‘I Hate Good Friday.’

 I feel like a really bad Christian saying that. But that’s how I’ve felt about Good Friday since I was a kid. And perhaps ‘hate’ is too strong a word.

My dislike of Good Friday comes from my discomfort with the whole focus on the meaning of the day, to remember the death and (Easter Sunday) resurrection of Christ. When I first went to an Anglican church, there was this intense lead-up (called Lent) to Good Friday that lasted for six weeks where we beat this remembering and suffering thing to death! (pun intended). Every year it makes me wonder why we focus so much on the death and suffering of Christ when its so sad and horrific. I mean, if I had a close friend that went through all that and died, I would remember my friend with fondness, not dwell on all the torture that they went through prior to their death. I don’t even like watching CSI!

I feel like I’ve spent my share of time “In the valley of the shadow of death” (Psalm 23) the past few years.  And I distinctly remember the feeling that “we ain’t in Kansas no more”. The road of my life had completely washed out. That, in itself, kept me in shock for months before I realized I had to put my heart in 4 wheel drive to get moving again, however slow it might be. And it was very… very… slow.

I had gone to see the Priest at my church at the time (Al. He rocks!) two days before the washout. Al and I discussed a specific issue that had become problematic for me in my immediate family. I wanted a clear cut resolution but all Al would say is that “God is sovereign.” Well, duhh. That’s all you’re going to give me?… is what I thought at the time. I’m sure Al didn’t know that he was speaking  to me as the voice of my Creator in that moment. He was pronouncing my entry into my long journey through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and giving me my first clue on how to traverse it.

For a long time I just spun my wheels, sank deeper in the mud, got taken out by a few flash floods, and taken further into the Valley by some all-consuming mud flows. I fought and fought and fought it. And got absolutely nowhere, except maybe deeper. And darker. Through friends, reading, contemplation, and even people from totally different religions, God kept trying to tell me the same thing again and again and again… that He is sovereign… there is a master plan… and I am exactly as I should be. Even though it felt like an epic catastrophe.

And how did I actually engage my 4 wheel drive? By surrendering to and accepting Sovereignty. By NOT fighting. By realizing that I was no longer in control, and never had been in control of the road. By learning that I could only take the 2 feet of road that were in front of me right now, not the potential obstacle that lay a few days/weeks/months/years down the road. The road changes every day.

My acceptance meant being willing to take some bumps and bruises, even though they hurt, because I know this road is going somewhere good. I have full confidence that this is the ride of my life, but, crap, is it scary sometimes! One day I’m so scared that I can barely move or think, the next I’m thinking this is the best freakin ride in the world! THIS IS LIFE! AND I AM LIVING IT TO MY FULLEST CAPACITY!

Often it means taking time to stop, get out, and examine the obstacle objectively, or from a different angle to understand it better. This is done through meditation and reflection time. I’ve learned that its also very important not to beat myself up for getting myself into this ‘jackpot’ (ie – wreck of a road) because it’s the only road I have. I did not take a wrong turn. Its exactly where I’m supposed to be. There is a way through. Sometimes its from a different approach. Sometimes its by getting some help from someone else with a winch. Sometimes its by building a bridge. Sometimes its about getting advice from someone else who just crossed the same obstacle. Sometimes its about waiting for the torrent and rain to die down enough for the road to become passable again. Sometimes its about waiting the long months for winter to melt into spring.

I’ve also learned that even though it is undeniably “The Valley of the Shadow of Death”, there is also unbelievable beauty along the way… not necessarily ALL the way, but all of the sudden you round a corner and there’s this incredible waterfall, or some bear cubs playing near their mom, or an emerald green lake perfectly set like a center stone encircled by diamond encrusted peaks… all things that were created specifically for me to see and enjoy in my life; things I would never encounter on the mainstream interstate, or would be traveling far too fast to be able to enjoy.

My favorite theologian, Fr. Richard Rohr, suggests that Christ, in his death, modeled for us a way to die to ourselves (or our ego’s… our desire to be in control… or what the Bible calls ‘sin’), and how that death to our ego / sin leads to life… our REAL lives, our lives utilizing ALL of ourselves, in all we were made to be, in and with the Creator; in full surrender to the Creator.

Many of us who participate in the Christian Easter tradition get focused on the gore and suffering of Christ on the cross (a la The Passion of the Christ, thank-you Mel Gibson). My problem with why I’ve traditionally hated Good Friday lies in the fact that I got stuck there… in the CSI recreation…and subsequently the third person observation. And then I felt guilted to be thankful for the sacrifice Christ made for me. I didn’t see that not only was he modeling for us how to truly engage in who we really are, but he was identifying with us in the difficulty of the struggle along the way, and the magnificence that the struggle gives way to… after some time.

I overheard this from high school students exiting a classroom on Thursday:

Student 1: Why is Easter such a long holiday?

Student 2: I dunno. Its some Christian holiday.

Student 1: But why is it 4 days long? Everything else is just 1 day!

 Good point! Why is there such a lag between Good Friday and Easter Sunday? I’d bet it has to do with the modeling… that it takes time for transformation. Its in the ‘down time’ that the transformation happens. And its often quiet. And unseen. And then suddenly its happens, but not because of our efforts. Because of what God does in His own time in His own way (or Her own way if you prefer the feminine reference).

 In some ways its easier for human beings to take in the Easter traditions on such a physical level because thats not that much different than watching an episode of CSI. It doesn't require one to engage in their own life struggle and transformation. And while I would never want to deny anyone the hope and joy Easter or Sundays offer, my journey over the last year or two has finally allowed me to see that Easter is much deeper, richer, and mysterious than the surface re-telling of The Passion event. That Easter is about transformation, a transformation that Christ modeled for us, and a transformation that I continue to live today. And I am so thankful for this rough road, and stark, raw, and naked beauty that it reveals to me. Many Christian say Easter is the highlight of the Christian calendar. I wouldn’t argue with that, but now its a lot more to me. It’s the model for each of us, as individuals, how to surrender to what we are, and who we are, in Whom we are, to transform into the fullness of all we are created to be.

May you rise in to the fullness of who you were created to be this weekend, and/or rest in the cocoon of transformation, in the Pleasure and Love of the Creator.

Broken

Last Sunday was my little sister’s birthday. I decided to get her some fairy stuff for her garden. (If you didn’t know, Fairy Gardens are all the rage, according to Global News!) It was the second day after my root canal, and my mouth still hurt. Jed was clingy and insisted on staying with me throughout the day. I was tired and still in recovery mode, but I hauled my butt, and Jed’s teeny butt, down to Art Knapps to see what kind of fairy stuff they had. I agonized between two different options for a good 30 minutes, and finally chose the more expensive one, slightly above my budget, which was this:

We stopped at the grocery store on the way home. I opened the passenger door to get Jed out, and out tumbled the fairy and frog, which smashed on the pavement. “No! No! No!” I shouted as I dove for the bag. But it was too late. I could hear small broken pieces jangling about. I was devastated.

When we got back into the car with the groceries, I could smell a really toxic plastic smell and I wondered what kind of nearby business would be releasing such a toxic cloud on a Sunday afternoon. I worried about Jed being exposed to chemicals. When we got home and I got Jed out of the car, I could still smell the toxicity.

By the time we got settled at home, I had devised an ingenious plan to paper mache over the gaping crevasse in the fairy & frog. But my plan to get to work on the repair was distracted by the fact that I could STILL smell that toxic plastic smell.

It finally dawned on me that it was the fairy/frog that was smelling so toxic. I immediately took it outside and washed my hands. My little sister is an avid advocate for all things natural so I knew there was no point in repairing it. I couldn’t give it to her, no matter what.

So I put it in my little flower-pot garden. Surprisingly, it looks like it really belongs there, broken and all. I really like the broken part of it. Probably for the same reason that this is my favorite rock:

It seems I identify with broken things. There’s something perfectly imperfect in them. I think they are a visual cue to help me see the perfection that God has brought to the imperfect world. And that we are so beyond broken, we can’t function properly without Him in our lives.

Yesterday was my day in court. I got divorced. As the judge pronounced the final order on the dissolving of our marriage, images of my vows flashed through my mind like a hail of daggers slaughtering my heart. This was never supposed to happen. It is the antithesis of the dream. And yet it IS. And it is the right thing for me.

I am broken. Like the fairy/frog. Like the rock. And I am beautiful in that broken state. Perhaps its because what weathers and shatters us also shows what we’re truly made of. It shows a shape, a sheen, a texture that may not have been clear from the polished shell.  It reveals the nature of our structure. We are made in the image of God. As part of us exists in the stuff we create, so part of God exists in the stuff He created. That’s why there’s beauty in the brokenness. It’s the impression of God shining through, making something that might appear imperfect, perfect once again. It is pure redemption. And the real kicker is that its not even that He really fixes what is broken. It’s that He loves what is broken. He embraces it and loves it, and in that loving, it becomes perfect once again. Because it was made to be loved by its Creator.

Man, that blows my mind.

So gather up all the broken things about you today, whether they be character flaws, hurts done unto you, exhaustion, that you need to lose weight, or you have a cavity, a hangnail, a bad back, or whatever, and lift them up to the Creator, and allow Him to love His creation, because that’s what you were created for, however broken you are, just to be loved by your Creator.

Panic Attack In Progress

Originally this post was called Meditation. Then, as you read on, I have a mild panic attack while writing this...

One of the things I've learned this year is how important it is for me to meditate. Two years ago I would have wondered what kind of hippy-dippy new-age crap you were into if you would have suggested meditation to me. Being educated in a Christian college, of course, I'm aware that meditation is a very strong concept in the Christian tradition. But the evangelicals really don't talk about it, and if they do, they would say its just thinking about a particular Biblical passage a lot.

Ok. This is the coolest thing I've read. I either read it in James Finley's "Christian Meditation" or Fr. Richard Rohr's "The Naked Now." I don't have time to re-read both books to figure out which one it came from, and while I discovered these two authors seperately (Richard Rohr from my bff and James Finley on Chapters.ca) it turns out they're buddies anyway. They run silent retreats together. So its probably shared intellectual property.

Here it is: The proper Jewish name for God, as presented in the Pentateuch (first few/older books of the Bible) is YHWH. But the Jews would never pronounce it because it is too Holy a name to pronounce. (I already learned that part in Christian college). If one were to attempt to pronounce it, however, it sounds like breathing. Christians pronounce it Yahweh (ya-way), but to truly prounounce YHWH correctly, you basically inhale and exhale through your mouth. The very Name for God is the sound of the precious breath of life. Even in the first known religion of humankind (probably during the Adamic - Noahic period) God was called Ya... the giver of the breathe of life.

I LOVE that. And of course, breathing is the foundation of meditation.

Recommended time for daily meditation is about 45 minutes - 2 hours. Baaa-haaa-haa-haa. Obviously not for single working moms, or moms with multiple young children, or moms with high needs children. But I started meditating, in what I called an anemic practice, which apparently I'm not supposed to call it that because that's judging myself (self-hate). So apparently I can't even critisize myself properly (there's the self hate again!)

How do I really meditate?

Meditation, I've discovered, is really just about being in the moment... about taking in the full moment of life and all that it has to offer.  One Biblical passage calls it praying without ceasing. Fr Richard Rohr frequently calls meditation the deepest most experiential form of prayer. Being aware of what's happening in your body. Taking in the moment and letting it be. Being aware of your thoughts, without judging them. For all you Christians out there, its the whole "Be still and know that I am God." Which you can break into a pretty awesome haiku-ish meditation if your brain is going a bazillion miles an hour.

Goes like this:
Be.
Be still.
Be still and.
Be still and know.
Be still and know that.
Be still and know that I.
Be still and know that I am.
Be still and know that I am God.
Be still and know that I am.
Be still and know that I
Be still and know that
Be still and know.
Be still and.
Be still.
Be.
(got this exercise from Lorrie who is a Spritual Director. Forgot her last name. Beckie LaPointe on my FB can tell you).

While I was typing the paragraph before this I stopped for 60 seconds to take in what's really going on in reality around me. I heard Jed chewing. He's eating his dinner right now. Rachel Ray's "Chicken Noodle Soup - Hold the Soup" recipe. He still doesn't use cutlery. Only occaisionally does he eat out of a plastic bowl (and it still usually flies across the room). But I could hear him chewing on a piece of chicken. He chewed with his mouth open. The sound of him chewing his protein was heavenly music to my ears since these days he tends to just eat the pasta.
I can hear the creaking of the big element on the stove heating a giant pot of apple sauce in the kitchen. And it smells like heavenly apple pie. And then my perfect moment of peace is interrupted by one of Jed infantish/autistic shrieks, which always jarrs me. I worry that his autistic symptoms are getting worse. And then I realize I'm catastrophising a future that doesn't currently exist. It was just a shriek. He starts his diagnostic process next week. I've done all I could possibly do as a mother. And once again, he is not unhappy in this moment. I AM!.I am allowing fear to creep in. My heart starts pounding harder. I suddenly feel like I just want to DO SOMETHING to stop any hint of autism. I think I have to stop writing this post and what am I doing anyway? Writing this post when I could be preventing Jed's autism from getting worse?!

Breathe, Karen, breathe. (Yah - in. Weh - out). And with my breathing my thoughts return to the presence of God. Perfect love casts out fear. I believe that to be true. I allow the Love in, with every breath. Filling me. Surrounding me. The fear and anxiety fade into the background.

Here's where my meditation practice is at:
1. Very short increments. If I get in more than 20 minutes at a time, I'm ready to be called St. Karen.
2. By breathing. By listening to the sound of my breath. By focussing on the feel of my breathing.
3. By focusing on a natural object of nature. EVERYTHING in nature is constantly calling us to to our connection with God and all he has created. Birds. A brook. The breeze. The shape of a leaf. A bug. Whatever. Its all pretty mind-blowing stuff.

I meditated while I was peeling apples for Jed's apple sauce this afternoon. I just listened to the sound of the peeler and knife, penetrating the apple flesh. Its actually quite a grounding, comforting sound.

When I was getting my root canal a couple of days ago my dentist and I were talking about anxiety (mostly him talking... I was drooling and white knuckling the remote control for the t.v.). He said well over half of his patients are on an anti-depressant for anxiety. He said, "I don't think we're meant to live the way most of us live". In Jon Kabbat Zinn's book, "Full Catastrophe Living" he talks about how we humans used to have naturally meditative processes built into our lives. Before the invention of the car it was regular routine to walk at least 10 km's / day. Walking, when mentally present, is a naturally meditative process. At night, after the sun went down, there was nothing else you could do except sit around the fire. Maybe talk some.  But mostly it was just about staring into the fire. Fire is a naturally meditative tools. It slows us. Calms us. Puts us in a reflective place. Oh THAT's why we all love campfire so much! Yep! That's why! Firelog channel, anyone?

I don't really know what I'm doing on here, blogging. I'm just doing it. Its going to be messy. I'm probably going to get myself in trouble. I'm going to have a vulnerability hangover the next day (unless no one reads this, then, phew!) I don't read other people's blogs... not because I don't want to, but I don't seem to remember to log in and read them. My sister and cousins have fabulous blogs that regularly inspire and wow me, yet I don't have time to read them. Nor do I really have time to blog.

Yet, I am. And I need to. I'm thinking its time to swap all those moments I've been eating up doing online dating, with blogging instead. Because I've learned an enormous amount about myself and my life in the last few years, and its time I start talking about it.

Last week, in random smalltalk, I asked a collegue what he was up to for Spring Break. He and the wife are taking the kids skiing at Big White. He asked me what I was up to. I said, "A root canal, divorce court, a first date, autism screening for my son, and work in between all that, because I don't get Spring Break off." And then I laughed. And yes, it was a bit of a maniacal laugh. But I had to laugh because despite the absurd catastrophe it appears my life has become on the surface, it is deeper, richer, and more joyful than I could have ever imagined. And I still want to vomit in exhaustion around 4:45pm every day. (So if I don't look you in the eye and appear distracted, that's why). But I'm up to my eyeballs in life and loving it.

How could that be? Everything my life was supposed to be, is in ruins. And yet it is perfect. I married the wrong man. I lost all hope of financial solvency. I had a baby and then immediately got separated (who does that???). I got a mild anxiety disorder. Despite my best efforts to do everything known to avoid autism, my child is still autism spectrum. And I was fighting it before he was even born. Why? God gives mothers instinct.

Fortunately God also gives us instinct for where he is acting and moving, releasing and growing. And while I do pray that God heals my son's autism spectrum disorder, I KNOW, at a cellular level, that the autism is there for a purpose. And that purpose is healing, though I do not know how that will take place. That's part of the awesome mystery of God.

So ya, none of this turned out like it was supposed to AND the life I've got is FREAKIN AWESOME (my Pastor, Mike doesn't like substitute F words like Freakin,... no unwholesome language... so sorry Mike, and anyone else who is offended. But in this case, its a great descriptor.. 'Very' wasn't adequate.)

And now I know that the 'wrong' man, financial ruin, anxiety, and everything and anything to do with my son are all wonderful gifts that my Creator has given ME, because it was right for ME, and how the Creator wants to express himself in me and through me.

Dr. Brene Brown talks about the courage to feel our feelings as 'owning our story.' And its a fantastic story  that I'm ready to share moments of with you! Dr. Rick Hanson (not the Man In Motion) talks about 'taking in the good' because all these incredible moments pass us by and we miss them because we're too upset that our kid is way behind someone else's kid on Facebook, or the fact that I no longer own my home (shame!) or I no longer have a man standing by my side (MORE shame!).

But you know what the really incredible moments are? Feeling the sunlight on my face while drinking my morning coffee (ok that's rare in Vancouver, but that's why its incredible!). Feeling my son's pudgy, warm hand in mine as he sprints 10 meters, then hangs off me like he can't walk another step, then sprints another 10 meters. The rhythm of his barefoot steps on the hardwood floors. The sound of his giggle. His morning cuddles. His cheeks! The new leaves that are budding. The smell of the air after the rain. The sound of a babbling brook. Grandma Audrey's apple pie. The fog hanging in the trees. Really, almost everything is a miracle, but we get so wrapped up in some projected version of what we think our lives are supposed to be like, we miss life itself.

So take a look around... tell me the everyday miracle you're experiencing!