So this is what I don’t know.

I don’t know why I don’t always say hi.

I don’t understand why I’m so nervous around someone who isn’t like me

I just don’t know why we always lie–I feel bad, but I really mean I’m disappointed;  I’m sorry, but I mean really there is no other way; this is the way it has to be.

I don’t know how we survive so much rejection when if we opened our eyes

It’s just so blatant

I better not take your parking space, and you better not come to my party.

I don’t know why we fight off crying
I don’t know why we can’t say it:
I am so damn hurt I don’t know what to do.

But sometimes we’re so amazing
I don’t know how it is

But sometimes at just the right time
My friend drops by and stays until I feel better

Sometimes the hardest days end with a dinner with friends and I can smile
And some days aren’t hard at all
Oh, it doesn’t really make sense.

But when I fall down, I cry, then I laugh,  and then I am found alive.

But how much I had longed for, the entire summer, time just to be with Alex.  This week proved to be exactly what we needed–walks, good conversations about the meaning of life, and some heated discussions (arguments, perhap)–all in a spirit of–we’re in this together.

Maybe just now, two years into married life, I am discovering the lightness and weight of marriage. I am in THIS with just one person. And the person I’ve committed to–it’s THIS one person. And we are just living our lives together as two best friends.

So often, I find myself saving my best self for the rest of the world–consider how to do well at work, how to please this person at work….but what if I were to put the same time and consideration, same thought every time I opened the door to our apartment? What does my better half need? How can I make this a better place for my better half?

From the South of France, by my father

This week I have once stumbled again on the fact that I will one day die. I went to the dentist and found out that I grind my teeth.

My teeth, like the rest of my body, will be with me the rest of my days. I sometimes think about the things I’ve been collecting through the years, my six inch scar on my leg, a broken thyroid, and now…teeth that are worn away. If I’m this much of a mess now, what will I be like in 40, 50 years?

Well, if I make it that long, maybe that will be blessing enough. I can just thank God that I am alive.

Riding my bike kinda does that–makes me thank God that I’m alive that is. Surviving a car ride, too. My grandmother always says she says a prayer before she gets in a car. I like that idea; I like the idea of not operating a car with out remembering whose world it is, whose presence your in–when you cut some one off or don’t stop in a cross walk, etc, etc, etc. Or when some else cuts you off, etc etc etc. Just move on, not much you can do, the other car is already a mile down the road…or you are already a mile down the road.

But on a bike, well, it feels real. Everything feels real. The people waiting for the bus as you pass. Real. The trash cans waiting to be emptied, real.

I feel like I don’t just get to be such a bypasser. When I almost run someone over, I have to say, “Sorry!” or when simply going by, “Excuse me” with a little ding of the bell. Or “Good Morning” to the other biker…

In the early hours of Thursday morning, that’s what happened. The first person I saw awake before dawn, before the sun was even up. I left the house, biking toward an early morning routine at L’Arche. With Alex still asleep in bed, I rode my bike toward the city line. The first person–the only person I saw–was riding his bike, too.
We exchanged a “Buenas dias.” How can you not say good morning to the first person you see?…

When I ride my bike, a lot of time, I’m riding in wonder. At the wind…. Wonder at the sunrise over the bridge in Brookland as I’m coming over the hill. Wonder at the beautiful Basilica as the new day’s sunlight makes it glow. Wonder at the beauty that has nestled itself around the dinginess of Route 1,  the sun setting over the Northeast branch trail. As I speed by children laughing, birds flying over, life is being lived.

Yes, this is life, being lived. Thanks be to God.

And she said with a big grin, “Yea!” First we just dance to the beat of our hearts…then we put some Motown hits on the radio and sure enough began moving and grooving….

Even when we collapsed afterward on the couch, she held my hand in a sort of sit-and-dance-at-the-same-time sortathing.

This time we share, this gift we are to one another, all our blessedness and brokenness is always raining down….always.

But eventually it came back down and the winds died down. It was as if the whole group of us breathed a sigh of relief. Soon more folks began trickling in.

As we sat around tables and began sharing our scriptures together, I found myself listening to stories of people’s lives, the way scripture had transformed them, and then I heard myself saying how scripture had transformed me.

I am often surprised at events such as these–to hear myself speak. To hear what is of significance to me…to hear from somewhere in myself what has been of importance.  I found myself sharing, “Love your enemies” which became important mostly when I started finding myself as an adult full of relationships and challenges in those relationships. Love your enemies is no longer just a phrase, it is something that has begun to be written on my heart.

And I hope that it will one day be a way of life for me.

The way that we shared these reflections as a group was to spend time writing our reflections on bricks which we later formed a wall with during meditation time. What I saw there was a collection of meaningful expressions of scripture–a community sharing of the gospel.

Thanks be to God for yesterday, New Leaf Church!

Blessings.

Amy

I am not above racism
I would like to be
But none of us are

All of us are in chains
That is
Unless we have been freed
By some grace,
I have seen my own blindness
My own prejudice
My quiet hatred

And I would like to shout it from the mountain tops
Because I believe I can be freed
I want to be converted

Dear God
My Father
My Mother
Can you free me?
Won’t you free me?

I see your grace
raining down in my life
I see your grace
in someone else’s face
I want someone to see your grace
in my face, too.

these days, home means
being on my bike
celebrating joys and accepting sorrows with Alex and friends and family
home means a little discomfort mixed in with comfort
it means centering in God instead of circumstance
home means pupusas, mexican tres leches, spanish,
seeking justice and peace
yes, peace

the yellow fireflies brightly flicker
on and off and on and off
they light up the tree,
yes they decorate the beautiful,
grand, gargantuan, elegant tree

the june breeze smells sweet tonight
and the way it feels ill remember long from tonight

in my surreal estate
i am sitting
just you and me
the fireflies and the tree

As I was walking along yesterday in the streets of our new little town (Mt. Rainier), I found myself amazed by all that I saw…so many people out, walking, doing different things with their lives–running their stores or restaurants, closing up for the day or just taking a smoke break.

So to watch this newness unfold, to see how God blesses and provides, and brings new things or people into my life, that is a gift.

Day 1, the joy of seeing our home come together with Alex.

Day 2,  being lazy and cleaning and reading and being alone

Day 3, making good food together

Day 4,  having friends over for dinner, to warm the house with their voices and laughter

What will Day 5 or 6 bring? And day 7? Rest. Then everything else…well, that is Day 8

And more deeply, that God who is working toward the good in all things, is putting to rest my anxieties and reviving my spirit. On this journey, wherever I am now, that is where I am.

So I wonder—what it is that keeps me from believing it? Is it some experience of NOT being provided for? If no one else is going to take care of me…then I better take care of myself, right?

Or a society that bombards us with advertisements that say we NEED to be in control, that we NEED to take charge?

I feel like this mindset sort of gets us in a mess and reminds me of some sort of defense mechanism Alex taught me about where you—in an effort to make up for an insecurity—use that same insecurity to try to overcome it.

So, for instance, if I feel like I don’t have enough money, then I will worry about money, which in turn makes me feel like I don’t have money.

Is this the kind of life that God wants us to have? To be constantly wondering about if we are okay…or not?

No—- God wants us to experience a life rich in relationships, in love, and in appreciation of the earth. How can we do that, though, if we are so…afraid?

My first instinct when I am afraid is probably to deny it. I would rather go on pretending that I think everything will turn out okay, even if I don’t actually believe it.

A few weeks ago I introduced a kind of prayer at the Kneeling Station @ New Leaf. The prayer is called a Welcoming Prayer—the idea is that in this prayer we welcome the feelings that we have—not the cause of them—but the feelings themselves. So without affirming the source of our anxiety or fear, we can accept that this is how we feel and then begin to find out—what are our feelings telling us about ourselves?

I have begun trying to incorporate this practice into my daily life—to begin to sense where the breakdown begins—when do I start to feel afraid?