Finding Rhythm

I’m tired today.

And yesterday.

And probably tomorrow.

I just can’t seem to get in to a rhythm of rest, of sleep.  I will sleep hard for a night or two, but, then I’m up half the night for 3 nights in a row.  I’m trying to place my finger on what it is that is keeping me awake lately…but I can’t seem to.  I really need to find my rhythm.

And at this time of year, it seems even more difficult.   The world seems to tell us to kick it in to high gear, and then completely shut down right after Christmas…I just don’t think I work that way.  Peace, rest, life….fruits of the spirit…that’s what Christmas is all about…not rushing until you can’t function.

Rhythm to life is a good thing, I should know, I am a drummer, after all.

Waking up…

Is a very traumatizing thing to do when you realize you forgot to set your alarm, and just a bit more light is shining in the window than you anticipated.

I Have A Problem With My…

So, yesterday, in light of what today was (see previous post), I went to visit my Grandma in the Alzhiemers nursing home that she lives in.  When I walked in, I sat down next to her as one of the nurses was reading the newspaper to the residents.

She didn’t recognize me.  I touched her hand, and said Grandma, and she said, “Oh, are you here for me?”  Which was fine.  She’s happy.  She smiled.  I said yes, and walked her back to her room to talk.

She was so enthusiastic about the stories she told…but I couldn’t understand much of it.  She can’t remember words anymore.  And is mostly incoherrant (The nurses call it “word salad”) when she tries to complete a sentence.  But she smiles, and occasionally laughs, and so you smile, and nod, and laugh with her.  She really is very sweet.

At one point in our conversation, during what was perhaps the sanest moment I’ve seen her in a LONG time, she forgot another word she was trying to say, and she sighed, her shoulders dropped, and she looked me dead in the eye and said, “I have a problem with my…” and pointed to her head.  But then, she couldn’t complete the thought…and she thought for a moment, and finished with “chicken”. 

Then she smiled, and (from what I could gather) told me about how she raises chickens and she had problems with the chicken coop.

I’m glad I went.  It’s great to see her.  I love her laugh, and her smile.  It’s so genuine.  She lives in a world where whatever she thinks is reality.  The nurses take such good care of her.  And she truly is happy there.  And her happiness is her reality.

Here’s to you Grandma…here’s to your happiness, and your joy.  I was a stranger to you yesterday, and you loved me, and talked with me, and shared your joy.  Thank you.

4 Years (today)

I’m not sure why today still aches the same way it did 4 years ago. I really can’t believe it’s been 4 years, yet, with all that’s gone on in my life since then, it feels more like 20. However, this day, still seems like only yesterday sometimes.

I was out celebrating with my friends because I had just graduated college and my graduation was the next day when I got the call that grandpa had died. It wasn’t entirely unexpected. I had been expecting the call anytime the past few weeks, but it does seem like his sickness came on very quickly.

The next day the family came, saw me graduate, and helped pack up my apartment so I could move back home.

In all honesty, I don’t remember thinking alot about Grandpa that day. But I think of him often now. And when I think of that day, I always think of him…and usually nothing else.

Grandpa was perhaps the most genuine loving man I knew. He loved, simply to love. Never to gain anything in return. He just loved. He was always present, whether you were five or twenty or seventy years old, when you were with him, he was always with you. I think that’s God’s biggest promise to us…that He is present…which is probably why today still hurts. Grandpa was always present with you…and that points to something so much deeper than the man himself.

Grandpa taught me alot growing up. He taught me how to care for the chickens and the cows. He taught me how to trim trees. How to put up fences. He taught me how to be part of a family. How to mow the lawn, how to give cows their vaccinations…a thousand things…but, I think the most important thing is that he taught me about the presence of God.

Through his presence with me in my life, he taught me that even in this pain, God is present, God is with me…just like Grandpa was.

And there is definitely comfort in that.

Sometimes though, I do just want my Grandpa.

Peace to you Grandpa.

 

Take Me to the Manger…

Those were the words of Pastor Jim yesterday.  Take us to the manger.

I can’t help but think there is a song in that somewhere…maybe I should write one.  Although, everytime I think I can put them to music the song, “Get me to the church on time, Lord” rings through my head for some reason.  I was never really a fan of that song, so, unless by some great gift I hear new music, I probably won’t write it.

Anyway…Getting to the manger.  That really seems to me to be my calling this season.  Get to the manger.  Make that journey.  Bring my gifts, talents, flaws, problems, pain, joy, sorrow, happiness…and everything else….and get to the manger.

The manger.  Where I can kneel at the feet of a baby, and call that baby savior.

So, thank you Jim, for naming my call this year.

I’m off.  I’m off to get to the manger.  It’s a long journey…I may be a few days late.  But that’s ok.  If I can just get there…and kneel at that baby’s feet…well, then, all things will be well.  All manner of things will be well.

It’s Beginning…

To look alot like Christmas!!!

I must admit, it was crazy driving on the streets last night and this morning.  But…to have snow, before Christmas, in Nashville, TN??? 

Fan Tas Tic….

1 Samuel 27:9

So, while I was in Memphis this past weekend, I had the opportunity to do something REALLY cool.  This organization called Bible Across America is in the process of writing the first hand-written bible in…well…I really don’t know how long.  A long time, I’d imagine.

So here’s the scoop.  They go around to different events and assign people a verse to write.  It’s a totally voluntary thing, but who wouldn’t want to do it?  Since they don’t want 10,000 people writing John 3:16, they have to assign you a verse to write.

Ok…so it’s a great idea.  Totally cool thing.  Naturally, I went to do it.  And I happily take the verse that is assigned to me.  1 Samuel 27:9 is the verse I get to write.  I’m thrilled, and then I begin to read the verse as I begin to write.  Bear in mind that my name is David…the verse says,

“Whenever David attacked an area, he did not leave a man or woman alive, but took sheep and cattle, donkeys and camels, and clothes. Then he returned to Achish.”

My mother and father will be so proud. 

WE ARE…(Marshall)

If you haven’t seen the movie, “We Are Marshall” I highly recommend it…it’s a fantastic movie.  However, let me just say to start this off…this blog has nothing to do with football, or Marshall University (except of course, that I stole the Marshall University cheer).

I spent the past few days at a conference in Memphis.  It was about how the church is emerging with the changes in the world and the culture.  One of the seminars I attended was a group of people talking about the “New Monastacism”.  It’s kind of a re-development of monastic communities.  But, more than anything else, these communities really try to incorporate the community around them.  Many of them open their homes to the needy, the homeless…or anyone else that might want to join them in community.  It’s very powerful to hear these people talk about this…how their lives change, as well as the lives of the people they serve.

 The day I left for my trip, I was filling up the car with gas, and a man approached the car, began to tell me how ashamed and embarrassed he was to have to approach me.  He started to tell me about how his car had been in the shop, how his family had been stranded there for several days.  I stopped him gently, and just said, “What do you need.”  He asked for cash, and I gave him some.

When I arrived in Memphis, my friend, Sally, and I were going to dinner on Beale Street.  Another man approached.  This one had roses.  He gave one to my friend, and immediately, I went to a cash machine so I could give him some money.  I tried to talk to him for a minute, and in the process, another man approached.  The two argued in front of me over who was going to get money from me.  I told them both to relax, and gave them each some money.

Now, as embarrassing as this is to say, I was griped with fear during all three of those situations.  When I left the last two men, I literally had to weep.  I wept, not because I came face to face with the brokeness of this world…but because I fled from the brokeness of this world.  All these men are marginalized in our society.  I saw them try to interact with others, and the people just pretended that they didn’t exist…how more dehumanizing can you be?  To not acknowledge another human’s presence. 

But I wept that night, because I did the exact same thing.  I re-acted out of fear, not out of community, but out of fear.  My mind said, “Get me out of this situation as quickly as possible,” so instead of ignoring, I gave them money, and then pretended that I’d done this great deed helping someone.  It was empty generosity.  It was de-humanizing to them…but also to me.  My fear made me flee.  Instead of engaging the humanity in all of us, I fled.

That night my friend and I made a pledge that the next time we met a homeless person, we would take them to a meal, and eat with them, and learn their name.  And if we didn’t have money to offer, we wouldn’t, but we would still learn their name, and their story.

As we were leaving Memphis yesterday, we stopped to take a few pictures at the Mississippi River.  While we were there, a man approached.  Again, I was gripped with fear…really not knowing if we were going to follow through on this, and desperately hoping the man would walk by and ignore us.

He didn’t.

He approached carrying a plastic bag.  “Sir,” he said, “Would you let me wash your rims and tires on your car?”

I froze for a moment, and turned to the man, not knowing what I would say, when all the sudden  a thought struck straight to my heart:  Here is a man who is homeless, but is doing his best, and just like me, he wants to work.  Just like me, he wants to earn some money.  Just like me, he wants someone to talk to.  He wants to be human…just like me.  And with that realization, there was only one thing left I could say to him.  “If you would like to do that, I would really appreciate it.” 

I walked back to the car with him.  I told him my name, and he told me his.  Marshall was his name.  He worked on the tires for about 45 minutes.  Talking to Sally and I while he worked.  Marshall was from Minnesota and had been in Memphis for less than a year.  His wallet had been stolen, so he has no idea.  It costs 24 dollars to get a birth certificate and an ID.  But, even if he came up with the money, he can’t get them because he has no address.  We didn’t have much cash left, but we gave him what little we had, we gave him a bottle of water, and then remembered we had an extra blanket in the car as well.  So, as I looked him in the eye and shook his hand, there was a tear rolling down his cheek.  He gave us directions back to the interstate, wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, and waved goodbye as we drove away.

There is something in all of us that connects us.  We all have a desire to be known.  We all have a story.  We all have a desire to want our story heard.  We all have fears.  We all have a desire to work.  We all have a desire to earn.  We all have a desire for purpose.  And we all desire to be recognized as human…and not be de-humanized.

As I drove off, with the man waving in my rear-view mirror, I realized 1 more thing…

We are all Marshall.

‘Tis the Season (Hard to be Jolly)

“Anxiety is the inability to be present.  It’s the state of agitation in which we lose our larger capacity to empathize, to love, to respond to the needs of others.  When we’re anxious we become squirrel-like – nervous and wary, teeth chattering, eyes scanning for danger, muscles spring loaded, waiting to scamper up the nearest tree at every sound.  Anxiety comes from words that denote “to choke.”  When we’re anxious we can’t breathe.  We feel life closing in, leaving fewer and fewer choices.  We find ourselves unable to discern real fears from reactive worry.  We lose patience, and we’re unable to trust.  We get suspicious, distancing ourselves from others, ourselves, and even God.  We become lost in our heads, caught up in fearful thoughts and calculations.  Our minds oscillate between the future and the past.  We worry about what should have happened or fear what might take place.   In anxiety we lose touch with what’s driving us.  Our actions become self-protective, reactive, and compulsive.”   -  Mark Yaconelli, Contemplative Youth Ministry: Practicing the Presence of Jesus, page 35.

It’s Advent.  As I prepare for evening prayer at the church today, I can only pray that the anxiety of the world gets left at the door. 

“The inability to be present,”…”When we’re anxious we can’t breath”…

Lord, may I, and the people I come into contact with today, be able to catch their breath.  May they breathe deep…and breath deep again…and may they make themselves present to God today, and the miracles of this world.  Let it be.

 

Going Postal

I stood in line at the post office today.  I was waiting to mail my niece an advent calendar..it was already a day late…and should take at least two days to get there.  My brother pointed out how convenient it will be to tell 3 year old Zara that today she can open 4 windows…but tomorrow and for the rest of advent she can only open 1. 

No matter when you go to the post office, it seems to be to always be packed.  I’ve been there at 9 when they opened…waited half an hour.  I’ve been there at 2:30 in the middle of the day…waited half an hour.  Now, in the grand scheme of things, a half an hour doesn’t amount to much.  But as I waited, I could just see the frustration growing around me.  People, as they got closer to the front of the line, seemed to be getting ancier and ancier, more and more angered with how long it was taking.

I’m sure I’m not the first to notice this.

One man, by the time he got to the counter, was so angry…he was mad at the lady because she couldn’t guarantee that his package would get somewhere tomorrow.  “But it was supposed to be there last week,” he said.  I immediately thought, well, then…you should have mailed it last week.  Had I been working behind the counter, I’m sure that thought would have been said out loud…but the lady contained herself, and just re-itterated that she couldn’t guarantee delivery.

Waiting.  Patience.  They are good things.  I certainly hope my neice has more patience than the man at the post office as she waits for Christmas to come, and opens her advent calendar one day at a time (with the exception of the first day she gets it…good luck with that Wayne).