For you this may be new-
this get back, keep your distance,
everything-poses-a-threat kind of life.
Six feet away feels more like six feet under.
But since I was little
I learned that the way I maneuver in my world would always be dictated by external sources.
Don't wear this, it will draw the kind of attention you don't want.
Don't sleep in the night, you'll be unprepared for the midnight monster.
Don't eat food in phallic shapes in front of hungry men.
My body has never been my own, it's been hijacked.
It follows societal instructions-
not based on my will or my agency
but from the rules that help me fly under the radar of greedy men.
Because how can you ever really trust a stranger when the people you know turn like snakes?
your eyes are opened to see the invisible dangers all around-
every surface contaminated
every person infected.
The virus is everywhere you always overlooked it before.
In the same way-
I catch the nuances of men's bad behaviors before the evidence
piles up as bodies at your feet.
I'm in an unending quarantine-
the threat never passes
the air never clears
my body is always telling me to stay 6 feet away.
I don't feel protected
I feel provoked-
like a jack-in-the-box, my body is crushed into accordion folds, pushed back into the box and told only to come out by the lever in your hand.
All over the world there are hospitals lacking masks, running low on rooms and spread thin with worry and exhaustion. There are kids with pangs of hunger in their bellies because their hot lunches are locked behind the doors of closed schools. Jobs are temporarily cut to protect the lives of the people, while further injuring their economic insecurity as the bills pile on cluttered counter tops.
May we have eyes to see the blessings, and a heart to hold the hope.
May we be like the young boy in the Bible who offers what little he has - 5 loaves and 2 fish - and allow for the bounty to be created in the breaking. Because generosity always creates abundance. When we refuse the fear of self-interest, our resources are scooped up by a loving savior, affirmed by the faithfulness of God, broken and blessed, and are always multiplied in our giving.
May we give generously from a spirit of gratitude.
May we live abundantly despite the insufficiencies.
May we recognize that miracles often happen when we have empty wallets
but mercifully keep open hands.
As the shelves clear out and there is fighting over the last of the current resources, it struck me that we are all experiencing a collective trauma right now. We are all in some form of fight, flight, or freeze. While I don't cognizantly fear what is happening in the world right now, my body - with all of its stored trauma - is recognizing that need to survive. My nervous system is heightened, and I'm sure yours is too.
Like so many, I have been trying to push through all of the details of this pandemic: getting supplies, picking up schoolwork for my kids, and trying to plan ahead for multiple unknown outcomes. I haven't once taken the time to sit with myself and just observe how I am really feeling.
In therapy, there is a tool called a meditative body scan. This tool brings awareness to the sensations of the body, and does so in a gradual sequence starting from the feet and working up to the head. Sometimes we can get so caught up in our stress that we can overlook the toll it is taking on our bodies. This tool encourages us to slow down and to take notice of what our bodies are saying. By mentally scanning, you notice the aches, pain, tension, and discomfort. This knowledge doesn't relieve the problem, but it familiarizes you with the pain so you can learn how your body responds in order to better manage it. With stress reduction there will be obvious physical factors that improve as well. Anything from reduced inflammation to more quality sleep.
I plan on implementing the body scan daily because I tend to be unaware of how I am carrying my stress until I bottom out completely. This is one act of self-care that is easy to do, and incredibly helpful for navigating these altered days. I invite you to take part, too. Here's how:
* find a comfortable spot to lay down
* take a few deep breaths
* slowly bring attention to your feet
observe any sensations or emotions that accompany it and breathe through them
* visualize the tension leaving your body and move on when ready
* continue with each area of the body until you reach the top of your head
(Above is my first body scan of the pandemic. I realized that my hands were shaky while my arms felt heavy and uncooperative (a.k.a. noodle arms). My legs felt weak, my stomach was a ball of nerves that made it hard to eat at times, and gave me indigestion in others. I have had brain fog, irritability, restlessness followed by extreme fatigue, and angrily tensed neck and shoulder muscles. I am visual and chose to draw my completed body scan. Also, scribbling is meditative to me so I chose to fill in my silhouette with scribbles. Get creative if you want and turn your scan into a piece of art.)
May we breathe deeply the air of hope in the pandemic pining for our peace.
May we give thanks for the ability to gather essentials, remembering those who cannot.
May we relish the quarantined time with our children. Holding them closely as we remember those who do not have the luxury of an education or a safe home.
May we be generous with our resources, as Christ has been with His love.
May we be greeted each morning with the hope of a God who comes quickly with a peace that is much stronger than death.
May we gracefully, with each breath, remember we were never promised that the worst thing wouldn't happen, but that it wouldn't be the last thing to happen.
May we, in fear and anxiety, find ways to comfort our neighbors, reaping comfort unto ourselves.
May we search out ways to be the loving embrace of God to those around us.
May we believe Him when he says "do not be afraid," for who better to trust than the one who has swallowed death whole?
Eighteen years ago I walked through these doors.
So heavy I almost felt weightless.
One last cigarette
flick of the Bic before I spilled my guts to a jury of my peers
and all that tried to steal my confession as their eyes relayed their contempt for me.
They didn’t believe me because they thought they knew him.
They didn’t want to believe me because they really did know.
Because the truth is a stone that’s hard to swallow.
And if it were true, what would that make them? The ones who entertained him in their homes, and with their children?
The friend of a pedophile?
The coffee date who was so sick he lusted after a little girl?
I snuffed out my smoke
floated through the metal detector
walked up 2 flights of stairs I hoped would never end.
I sat in the box
(on what felt like a stage)
I confounded his attorney
he told enough truth that it made his whole story
I sat in the hall
staring at these doors
as the strangers I’d met only a few weeks ago
wrote my fate on a piece of paper to read to a judge who knew nothing about me
Would they believe me?
Ushered into the courtroom
diverting my eyes from all of those that heard the explicit details of everything I ever tried to hide.
He looked like a beaten puppy:
head down, sad eyes
I a l m o s t felt bad.
“Guilty” to every charge.
“Guilty” to 13 pleas.
It rang through the courtroom as
I entered my body again
breathed through the burning in my chest.
Relief and fear and sadness and happiness
and I didn’t know what feeling to land on.
He was taken away until sentencing.
Him in his orange jumper
feet and hands shackled.
No more puppy dog eyes
no more pouty face for the jury
in his ice blue eyes
as he glared at me when he walked by.
It was then I remembered
that I didn’t have to feel guilt over him living in the horrors of prison
because I didn’t send him there
he did that all by himself.
I was too weak to speak
I propped myself in the doorway in the hall
and whispered a thank you to each and every juror that walked by me.
With every syllable I felt the thumping in my chest rise to my throat and steal my breath from me.
He got 5 years.
They told me that was good
for a first offense
with no prior record.
for the insecurities and nightmares
for the jagged edges created in my world.
He did his time, I guess.
I’m still doing mine.
I have been meditating a lot on the story of a man named Cleopas from the Bible. He and another (unnamed) man were walking to a town called Emmaus after it was discovered that the body of Jesus - who was killed 3 days earlier - was no longer in its tomb. I can only imagine the amount of decompressing these two were undergoing with all that had happened, not only in the last 3 days, but in the entirety of the last two and a half years.
Before Jesus was crucified, he had walked the earth, demonstrating powers that backed his claim to be the son of God. He showered those who walked among him with miracles of love. This attracted both the attention and the disdain of the Pharisees. The Pharisees claimed blasphemy, while the citizens found the words of Jesus to be true. Jesus challenged people to think outside of their logistical box and to meet with God in a different way then had been taught in the synagogues. People were evolving in their theology, and Jesus’ divine love was the catalyst to this change. He challenged the notion that anyone was an outsider, he redefined what was unclean, and he refuted any tradition that put limitations on healing and loving people. Those who were observing Jesus were likely to have found their doctrine turned upside down.
As Jesus walked the earth he was constantly speaking of a new kingdom, and in this new kingdom, he was to be king. The hopes of the people were rising at the notion of this man of love overtaking the throne of oppression and empire. At the height of their belief, at a time when they came to trust the word of this man named Jesus, that’s when he was killed. For two and a half years their beliefs were in constant motion: from skepticism and doubt to confusion and wonder and ultimately to belief and certainty. And just like that, Jesus was crushed by the empire he claimed to one day overtake. He was crushed by the oppression of the very people he was to rule. The disciples were told this would happen, and even they were confused when it came to pass. They saw the broken body and believed the incompleteness instead of seeing past the physicality of the body to the sweet fulfillment of a promise.
So Cleopas and his friend are walking the 7 miles from Jerusalem to Emmaus and trying so hard to make sense out of their disorientation. How disillusioned and devastated these men had to have felt when all that they believed seemed to have come untied, and to be proven false. They were discussing the events when it says that Jesus came to them in their speaking. In the midst of their disappointment and confusion, their disenchantment, in the midst of wrestling with their darkest hour, Jesus appears and walks alongside them. The men were shocked when this mysterious man hadn’t heard the scandalous news of what had happened. They shared the story. They shared that they had hoped Jesus was really the one to redeem Israel. They hoped. Past tense. They were already giving up. Eventually, they saw that this man walking with them was, in fact, the risen Jesus. He had been good on his claims, they had just been disappointed by their own expectations.
The road to Emmaus is such a beautiful story to me. One that gives me so much hope. A hope and a reassurance that God will come to me when I am disoriented, in the depths of sorrow, and even when I am nothing but doubt. He will show up for me when my theology is all wrong and when I’ve missed the point entirely. He will show up on the journey and he will reveal himself just as he did the two confused men on the dusty road to Emmaus. This story shows us that in our pursuit of Truth, Truth Himself walks beside us.
After quite the sabbatical from church, I have found myself ready to enmesh once again. This is such a huge step for me, it's been about 5 years of this intentional time away. I needed to avoid anyone else's theology, assumptions, and certainties. It has been a transformative time of taking and adding bricks of understanding to rebuild the very tarnished building the temple had become.
It's incredible how this furlough has allowed me to lose the certainties I had unintentionally clung to. As certain theological bricks were removed, I began to see that the Bible in it's entirety had gotten so warped, so involuntarily intertwined with modern culture (specifically that of a capitalistic, American culture) that the whole system felt grimy.
After stepping away for a significant time and allowing this newness to wash over me like a fresh baptism, I have become inspired once again, to pick up my bible with eager eyes and a hunger to read with wonder and imagination as if I have never read this book before. Because in so many ways, I haven't read this book before. I haven't read this book without preconceived notions and a complete willingness to listen without knowing any of the answers. To read without any formulated response or opinion, but to just read and take in. To sit with the text as it was in all of its mysterious wonder.
A group of friends and I got together for dinner and had been challenged beforehand to think about what promises we were standing on for this season in our lives. Every woman came with a beautiful scripture that was so intimate to their lives, something that was filling them with hope and assurance. When the inquiry was passed to me, I proudly shared that I didn't have one yet. It was exciting to me because I wasn't conjuring something that didn't feel right, I wasn't grabbing on to something that had given me life in the past, I was okay with not knowing yet. I was okay with the anticipation of seeking my next promise out like a hidden treasure instead of returning to a tired map that had lost me over and over again.
Healthy religion tells us what to do with our pain, and when the church fails to lead us to meaningful theology around suffering, humanity is at a loss. Humanity has been at such a loss because of the modern church's propensity to a// make pain synonymous with sin or b// to settle into suffering too comfortably by calling it God's sovereignty.
The warped gospel that preaches prosperity foolishly claims that suffering doesn't happen if you are following in the very strict footsteps of a micromanaging God. If you have pain, you have stepped off of the path. However, the text of the Bible clearly demonstrates that suffering is just a part of it all - just and unjust alike. Pain isn't always a consequence of our misguided and sinful nature, but exists because we participate in life itself.
Then there's this contrasting notion that whatever happens is God's will. While God is definitely sovereign, the economy of sin can and does have influence and affect over our lives. Whether the suffering is self-induced or strategically placed, I don't believe that we are to suffer for the sake of suffering.
With all of the misery I have endured, I have been able to rewrite my theology of pain. The years following my naivety of believing the aversion of suffering was real, disenchanted me and also clarified that I was not operating out of faith at all, but legalism, bondage and works. I was a victim at best, and felt baited and betrayed at worst.
What I realized through many years of trying to understand this complicated relationship to pain was this: suffering is an invitation to create, and pain is the prophet that whispers the deeply difficult truths into your ear and waits for you to allow your ego to destabilize, that waits for you to heed the invitation to co-create something new, to live from a deeper place, and to know the goodness of God more fully.
I realized that all of that pain that was stored up inside of me was the thing bringing the real suffering to my life, not the difficult circumstances. Pain was a calling presence that revealed to me that there is always a way to find deeper meaning, and that's by finding God Himself in the thick of it.
I finally understand the difficult emotions that can accompany the holidays. This year was loaded. I was balancing the animosity of a child with sadness and uncertainty while trying to grasp the hope and joy of the season for the rest of the family. While the days were hard, the morsels of connection were more meaningful than ever.
While it would be easy to feel slighted this Christmas, I have come to see that this season is all that it should have been. The schism of pain and peace, union and unrest, is a call into the blessedness of God. Nadia Bolz-Weber’s definition of being blessed is this: seeing God in the world and trusting that God is at work even in things we can't see, or understand, or imagine.
Mary was considered blessed to behold Emmanuel - God with us - yet, her life didn't look very blessed to me. From the time she became a pregnant, unwed mother until the day she watched her son die a ghastly death on the cross, she was on an unimaginably tough journey. But she had vision, she had assurance, she had faith in the promises of God.
While I'm not comparing my life to Mary's, I do have to say that this season isn't one that comes with a face of joyfulness. Blessings can surely come through hard things, through tense relationships with our children, through strain and stress and uncertainty. Blessings aren't material objects that are mere emptiness to our souls, but the ability to believe the goodness of God even when what we see is contrary. So I am blessed because I know that God is still with us, is still with me.
The celebration of the birth of Jesus is an appropriate time to feel the ways that life crumbles around us. It's the perfect time to feel the unrest of our souls and to realize that Jesus' birth was profound and ancient, and also ceaseless in that, if we continue to receive him, he will be re-born in each one of us, too.
artwork by Scott Erickson // scottericksonart.com @scottthepainter
The last candle in the Advent wreath has been lit, and takes us into the theme of birthing. We've just been guided through the phase of journeying, which is the preparation, the holy surrender that leads us straight into the delivery room of self; the very place we experience new life. These last days have pushed me past my physical limitations, far exceeded my emotional willingness, and charged me straight into the phase of wanting to just quit. The same point in delivery where the body turns into a ball of fiery pain and where it's realized that there is no turning back. It's not just the apprehension and reverence of overwhelming physical pain, but the fear of what your life will be after this thing is born. The fear of change, of the unknown, and the responsibility of nourishing the life that was gifted.
This same pain that can swallow a person whole is also the kind that vanishes as soon as the cry of the baby is heard. Just like that, the pain that has overtaken and owned the body, is gone. I'm hoping to be on the other side of this delivery soon. I hope that through this process I can hold the weight of what I've been given with greater wisdom, more gentleness. I hope that the fruit of what I bear will not look at all like me, but will resemble something close to the peace and joy and hope and love of the Lord who is the giver of life. And I hope to become a graceful midwife to those who need gentle hands to hold them in the pain of their own transitions.