Juggling

I have discovered that I really hate juggling. I am not talking about some circus clown tossing flaming puppies into the air. I do not really like circuses either, but that is a post for another day. I do not like to multitask, and just like the whole rest of the world, I stink at multitasking.

I realize that I am totally unable to hold a conversation and watch television or check email without saying "uh" and "mmhh" a lot. Those non commital statements can lead to terrible things like agreeing to watch a friend's illegal pet cobra over the weekend (and it is the cobra they do not like to keep in a cage because Connie the Cobra likes to hide and slither around the house). Frankly, I can barely walk and chew gum without tripping, why would I ever think I could text and drive? I am not the only one who stinks at multitasking.

I often find myself muttering under my breath when the clerk at the store is trying to ring up a customer and has to answer the phone as well. I have no clue how barristas can remember any order. Okay, the barrista example does not work because they almost always get my order right, but what I want to know is why? Why are we multitasking ourselves to death?

Lent is a strange time for multitasking because instead of adding one more thing to an overpiled plate, we are taking something off our plate. We are stripping away the excess to reveal what lies benethe. Perhaps that is why we multitask so much, we fear what we might find underneath all that busy work. Who will we be in the quiet?

I am sure that science or psychology or some stupid women's magazine backs me up on this. We are better when we do one thing at a time. We accomplish more. We are less stressed. Yet, if we are only doing one thing at a time, actually focusing, or heaven forbid, doing nothing, will we be enough? What will we have to show for ourselves?

Somehow the dizzying, stressful busyness gives us an identity, gives us worth. We get some sort of bragging rights: "I worked so hard," but did we actually accomplish anything meaningful? What happens when that identity is taken away?

Lent asks us these questions. Who are we in the quiet? What are we worth when we do not have money or gadgets or appointments, etc, to define us? On what or whom do we focus? What path do we travel or are our wheels just spinning?

Last Wednesday we were invited to a Holy Lent, a time for meditation, repentance, self denial, prayer and reflection. Maybe the most difficult part is the reflection, really looking at ourselves and our lives. Is this how we want to live? Who or what are we living for if this is how we live?

I invite you to a Holy Lent with me. Let's do one thing at a time. Let's stop and listen in the quiet. Let's look into that mirror and see who we are, where we are. Let's put down our blackberries and take back our lives.

Giving Up for Lent, Part II

Our seasonal list of the things we're giving up, which will - again - not include chocolate or coffee, since we do need to live with others for the next forty days (not counting Sundays).

1.  Intellectualizing.  When we were all kids, we were completely tapped in to our emotions.  Feeling mad?  Throw a tantrum in the aisle at Target.  Clothes bothering you?  Strip naked.  Find something funny?  Laugh out loud in the middle of great-granny's funeral.  Now, some self-regulation is appropriate as we grow older.  But we get disconnected from our emotional souls.  We think and process and rationalize and logic ourselves into a death spiral when sometimes we just have to feel.  We have to feel mad or sad or happy or frightened (or all four).  We have to let those emotions have space to be, and not everything in our lives needs to be explained.  Much of life needs to be felt in our souls.  Avoid feeling, and you're in for trouble down the line.

2.  Thinking I have skills that would keep me alive in a Hunger Games scenario.   Clergy, unless you have something to fall back on, most of us would not be kept alive for the survival of the human race in an apocalypse scenario.  While any number of you may be getting bent out of shape about this, I find comfort in knowing that what I do is often mundane and quiet and could often be done by others.  The best moments of my vocation could never be put on a resume.  Remembering all of that truth is a good way to keep humility a majority shareholder.

3.  Thinking that forgiveness is an event and not a process.  Oh yes, for all those who have hurt me, I want so much to say, "I forgive you," and be done with it.  Except I'm not.  Some days are better than others, but old wounds get touched again and flare up.  Forgiveness is the untying of a twisted, complicated knot over sometimes a l-o-n-g period of time.  Rats.  But there we go.

4.  Processed food.  We need something on the list that sounds good, and with the current movement against all food that is processed (which is a good thing), we will try to avoid food that has been altered in some way, shape, or form.  With this said, we deem nothing from Starbucks as processed, nor anything from the dessert section of Whole Foods as processed.  And fried chicken from anywhere.  Okay, so this may be the hardest thing for us to do.

5.  Feeling guilty about my love of things celebrity and otherwise not church.  Yes, I read People and Entertainment Weekly.  And I read the Bible.  I know about the latest celebrity gossip (but not as much as Holli).  I also love snazzy shoes and jewelry that pops and Nars fuchsia lip gloss and the jeans that make me feel awe-some.  And I pray.  All that in one soul.  Yes, indeed.

6.  Getting a popsicle at inopportune moments.  Susan and I recognize this about ourselves, that we will have a great idea and completely sell it to everyone else, and while they are working diligently on said project, we decide that's a perfect time to get a popsicle.  For those of you less high context than Susan and I, getting a popsicle is our version of checking out of a situation that feels uncomfortable or scary to us, so we find something else to grab our attention.  We're both trying this stay in place and experience the scary, because popsicles don't make the scary go away.  They just give you brain freeze.

7. Camping.  I'm giving up camping for Lent.  I never do it, anyway.  God may be in the trees and mountains and the outdoors, but so are bugs.  (Click here for my views on the whole camping thing).  This way, one thing is on the list that I can reflect on at the moment we celebrate the Feast of the Resurrection and say, "I totally accomplished that Lenten goal.  I rock."

Blessed Lent to all.

Can You Hold My Crazy?

Can you hold my crazy?

I look reasonably normal on most days, even perhaps polished and together.  Don't be fooled.  Life gets to me sometimes.  One too many phone calls about things that others consider massive emergencies and I consider a total lack of planning.  One too many arguments between the children that call for my refereeing and peace negotiating skills.  One too many workdays that extend well into the late evening and when I get home, the Cleaning Fairies still didn't show up and the laundry needs to be done.

When I am beyond tired and weary, when my doubts and fears are barely below the surface of my thin skin, when old scars get touched too much, and I fight the world back.

Then, in those moments, can you hold my crazy?

See, I know people love me - my friends, my family, my colleagues.  Love in our human expression is often an elegant and fragile emotion.  We love as long as the other is nice to us.  We love as long as our expectations of the other are met.  We love as long as we are happy.  We may even be strong enough to love when life is marginally off-center and uncomfortable.

However, the big loves of life, the people who are soul mates - they love enough to hold the crazy.  These friends, these gifts from God - they stand in the fire until it burns to ashes and never flinch.  Or at least keep flinching to a minimum.

They love when life gets to me and I drop a cup of coffee on the kitchen floor, sending coffee and broken glass everywhere, and I dissolve into those deep sobs that start with a long silence before the wail.  When I do that, what will you do?

Will you look at me as if I've over-reacted?  Will you clean up the mess and ignore me?  Will you ask me what's this really about?

Or will you hold my crazy and allow me to sit and cry for as long as I need to cry?  

Can you love me when I've worked too hard for too long and I need to yell and rage, but can't do it in proper society, so I yell and rage to you, the person who truly was an innocent bystander? Can you like me when I cut you with my words?  Can you hide the sharp objects before I do too much damage?  Can you believe that I love you, even when I say and do things that communicate the exact opposite?

Can you hold me when I'm so exhausted from the fights I encounter in life that I simply fall to the ground and lie there in the ashes?   Or will you try to make "it" better because my weakness is too strong for you?  Do you get frightened and try to fix me?  Do you explain why I shouldn't be angry or sad or filled with grief or frustration?

Or can you make sure I'll be safe in my weariness? Can you hold my crazy and see the holy parts of my soul that can get lost in the expectations and personas and pressures of my life?  Can you discover that less than charming part of my personality and sit with her, maybe even have a bourbon while Miss Bitchier than Thou surfaces?

Will you walk with me as I wander, even when you can see the path I'm taking is not the most direct route or even, perhaps, the easiest?  Will you sing with me when I need music, talk with me when I need words, and smile at me when I need affirmation?  Will you, on occasion, wrench my crazy from my hands when I've held it on my own for too long?

Can you hold my crazy until I've wailed and railed to my soul's exhaustion and rested in the mess I've made?  Can you hold my crazy until I don't feel crazy (or as crazy) and ask for forgiveness?

Can you hold my crazy and love me for all that I am, for all of me?


For Susan, Holli, Brad, Elise, Amy, and Mary, who do an exceptional job of holding my crazy. 

Life Lessons from Old Westerns

My current schedule finds me sitting on the couch during the late afternoon, being mindfully quiet before the evening's meetings or Eucharist or other events that await me after 5:30.  Unfortunately, not much is on television.  I'm not a fan of talk shows.  I watched Dr. Phil until he had the guy that liked to dress as a baby, and his girlfriend happily explained how she tucked her baby boyfriend in his custom-made crib each night.  I prayed for their minister, by the way.  Can you imagine that pre-marital conference?

Oh yes, there are things too out-there even for me.

Friends is on, but I've seen those episodes one too many times, and I'm finding that the friends of the 90's that seemed witty and funny are more annoying now.  Some things do not age well.

I have, however, discovered old westerns on two or three cable channels.  Most aired before I was even born, and given the advertisements of AARP insurance, Fiber One ads, and motorized chairs free with Medicaid, I'm clearly a bit under the chosen demographic.  But, like all things, they have something to offer the world in wisdom (and stupidity, but I'll hold that for another post).

1.  Sometimes you just get the position because you can wear the costume.  I watched one western for a week and realized the special guest stars damsel in distress wore the exact same blue dress.  Four different women.  One pale blue gingham dress.  So, sometimes you may have all the talent in the world and be just the most amazing person ever, but other times, you get the job because you can fit in the costume.  You may not know the exact reason you got the gig, but since you're there anyway, do the best you can.

2.  Bad guys are bad shots.  Always.  They can empty a gun at the star of the show who's standing four feet away and miss every single time.  The good guys, however, can shoot a flea off a wall at twenty miles.  My experience in real life is that those assassinating your character can aim pretty well.  Perhaps the only wisdom here is not to believe that the person with the gun will miss, and also remember that God's healing works from all over creation.

3.  Bar furniture is really not sturdy, nor should it be.  It seems to be broken every few days by someone getting annoyed at someone else and instead of rationally talking their differences out, they just beat the snot out of each other and the furniture in the process.  So, don't spend time and money on things that will likely be broken by someone's careless and immature attitude.  Let the bullies trash the worthless stuff; keep the precious things around people who can respect valuable items.  

4.  And speaking of bar fights, when you find yourself in the unfortunate fix of being in the middle of one (which happens to the best of us from time to time), make sure your friends are people who will have your back, not cower in the corner.  Also realize you often don't know just who will have your back and who will leave you high and dry until the punches are being thrown.  Just add that to the list of annoying life truths.  I have discovered, though, that the louder a person says s/he has your back, the more likely that they are great friends of the corners.

5.  Saloon girls seem to have fun.  They get fancy dresses in bright colors, not those dowdy gingham numbers.  And they wear feathers in their hair and laugh really loudly.  Granted, they have to sit on flimsy chairs because men can't seem to solve their differences with dialogue, but a small trade-off for living out loud.  So many women are sold the bill of goods that the "good girl" persona is the way to go, the good girl who doesn't speak up when others push her around, the good girl who meets every one else's needs at the expense of her own soul's dreams, and the good girl who never does anything to make anyone else uncomfortable.   Remember the quote:  well-behaved women never make history.  So live out loud, laugh more loudly, and wear feathers in your hair.

6.  Horses are better friends than some people.  As as horse person, I can vouch for this.  They also teach you a great deal about working with a created being who can buck you, but would rather trot around the ring showing her stuff and needs your help to do so.

7.  Solving differences with guns breaks saloon furniture and leaves a bunch of dead bodies, neither of which is all that useful for the greater good.  I can't help but think a few good ministers with common sense and the ability to help cowboys learn to disagree agreeably are needed in the world.  Bullets are faster, but do far more damage than the longer space needed to work on the big problems.

8.  Men rocking a pair of jeans and cowboy boots look good.  True then.  True now.

9.  All the street scenes and the vistas aren't for real.  No matter how how charming or quaint the western towns look on television, they are simply facades.  It's what is behind the exterior that makes something real.  True for Hollywood stages and most everything else in life.  

10.  If the world made sense, men would ride sidesaddle.