The Need to Feel Loved

There we were... four sisters sitting at supper in a strange country, trying to argue and rationalize a mute point with my wise father. He is an incredible man that, until a month ago, we collectively thought that he was just "behind the times" in converting to technology like facebook or myspace or blogs. This thought could not be further from the truth. In fact, reality is the opposite. These technology driven dumping places pose an interesting dilemma: whether people use these as methods to stay in touch with long lost family or friends or they are used as means for feeling loved.

So, to test out the theory, I began to watch friend's status' on facebook and how they reflect the broken human condition of feeling unwanted, unloved, unneeded rather than conveying general updates to keep people that are distant, closer to the happenings.

Each and every day that passes, being on campus and interacting with people who have signed on to eventually work towards the healing of others, I have become increasingly aware of the need for people to plug themselves into a sustainable resource. It is easier said than done, I get that. But would it not be worth the effort and hard work now so that when you need the resource the most, it is within one's grasp? In my short-lived experience, I swear, the well that distributes water without the effort of lowering the pail, is not the water that will save you from thirst. Rather, when we journey to the well of value and go through the effort... we will not only get the water we need to live (long term!), but perhaps, just like the mysterious lady in the Bible, we may meet the true source of life while we wait.

Wouldn't that be worth it in the end?

Instead, people seek the immediate, the quick source of "feeling good" about what they have done or said or written. These are the people I shall pray for this week... that they may find the strength to battle that inner temptation to stop at the mirage for water rather than enduring on for the well of fresh water.

Peace.

Would God Ever Say, "I Told You So"?

I don't know the exact date of the last time I had communion. For some reason, there are other dates popping in my head like the date of my last day as a theology student... the date that I got a phone call from the other side of the country that snapped me back into reality... the date that I packed up and drove 45 hours back "home" to face that reality... and even the date that I met with a bishop back home who tried her best to help me back on the path of the straight and narrow.

I do know that somewhere following all of these dates, I essentially tried to cut my losses and walk away from the church all together. I had reached a point of spiritual exhaustion. Being realistic, 5 years ago, I was a happy, church going youth who believed that nothing was more precious than my relationship with God. In those 5 short years, I went from being a boisterous youth minister responsible for getting teenagers excited to live a life of faith to deciding that what I was hearing in my heart were the whispers of the Holy Spirit calling me elsewhere. Packing up, I pronounced my faith in a different denomination - putting myself at odds with my cradle faith and the family that came with it. Within the following three years, I would not only convince myself that I was called to some form of servant ministry, but anyone I met. Literally. Three separate interviewing committees, new friends, and national contacts all were equally on board with the idea that I was "called to serve" as I was. It's no surprise that when things blew up, I personally decided that I was better off without any of it.

Now... I'm not so sure that I was right.

I was in the process of closing up the grand piano, tidying up the sheet music I had acquired, and fixing the piano bench when a man from choir approached me.

"We never know what to do with you and Communion"

"Um... pardon me?"

"Well, you don't go up to the altar to receive communion with the rest of the musicians, but you also don't take communion with the choir when we all receive. We never really know what do with you during communion"

"Oh. I see. Well, it's not a big deal. But thank you for thinking of me!"

"Would you like us to bring back a host for you?"

"No thank you."

"Why do you play in a church if you don't take communion... are you baptized?"

"Yes, I have completed all my sacraments, some more frequently than others. I do not take communion because I am at a weird place in my journey right now." (Which is easier to explain than trying to explain the process of what I would need to do to participate in the Eucharistic feast)

"My wife and I will pray for you"

I wanted to stop him and clarify that there are more important things to pray for, but he was gone. I wanted to tell him that I am just there for the musical outlet... I can survive without communion... really and truly...

On the drive home, I opted for silence. Just like the feeling that overcomes a composer when there is a song to be written, music streamed from somewhere deep within. The tune sounded familiar to me, but the words and context just wouldn't come. Once I got home, still puzzled, I pulled out my guitar and began trying to figure out what this song that I kept hearing was. About three strums in, I broke into tears.

It was a song that I was asked to sing at the Cathedral in town because it spoke about the woman at the well (which were those Sunday's readings). I don't remember whether we did the music for the whole service, or just that song, but I was on the guitar, there was someone else singing, and we had a violinist as well. The song was not really relevant to me back then... but now... sitting on the couch in tears... I get it. (Nothing slow 'bout me, I promise!)

It is a song sung by country artist, Martina McBride and it's called "Reluctant Daughter"

Jesus, tell my Father I wanna be his child again

Tell him, what my name is, incase he's forgotten.

Tell him I'm the woman at the well, drawing water

And I'm sorry if I've been his reluctant daughter.

Jesus, tell my angels to keep me in their prayers

Remind them how I need

To feel them everywhere

Tell 'em I'm ready to drink the living water

I don't want my angels to think I'm his reluctant daughter.

Jesus, tell my Father I wanna come to heaven

Tell him, to shout my name out

So I won't be forgotten.

I cannot make any promises for the date that I will kneel in prayer and sing this song upwards, nor can I know where that will be, with whom, and what will precipitate from doing so. I cannot know whether I will hear the whisper of "I told you so", nor can I assume that singing it will be effortless. However, I will simply continue to trust in what I do know... that reluctant or not, I have most definitely not been forgotten yet. Apparently I just needed the reminder.

The Tides are Changing

This time yesterday morning (almost exactly to the minute), I was standing on a Bahama beach in sandals, a pair of long shorts, and a very light jacket. We had just finished eating our last meal on the island as a family and when the rest of the six went upstairs to pack, I snagged my youngest sister and made her come down to the water to take pictures with me. I had missed a friend's birthday back home and just to prove that I was thinking about her while away, I wanted to get a lovely picture of "Happy Birthday (Friend)" written in the sand with the ocean in the background for a half decent birthday card.

And what seemed like a 30 second task to find the "perfect spot", write the message in the grains, and snap the picture... turned out to be incredibly and deceivingly challenging. The tide was not quite out all the way and it took a number (higher than 10) of attempts to time the writing in between the big waves and get the picture taken. So much so, that I nearly lost a sandal to the undertow and managed to provide quite the comedy to the security guard further up.

And now, 24 hours later, exhausted and wide awake, I find myself chuckling at how beautiful of an image yesterday's adventures were in illustrating life itself.

In about an hours time, I will drag my jet-lagged, sleep-lagged body out of bed, shower, and drive to the local university where I will embark upon a two year, professional degree of studies to hopefully graduate as a Registered Nurse - fully certified, trained, and health conscious. The logical part of my brain keeps telling me that these are just courses... they are no different than the six years of undergrad courses I just finished taking. But that middle section of my body that houses the digestive system seems to be saying something else. My stomach is churning, I feel like I'm going to either pass out or puke, and although nerves are not a horrible thing - I cannot remember feeling like this when I attempted to start theological studies a little over a year ago.

I am pondering the whole concept of the tides changing and what that means for me: a single soul standing on the edge of something so deep and profound as the ocean having the waves wipe out the message I try to write each time.

Maybe pondering the journey as a whole is too overwhelming and impossible to do, but I cannot help but ask the question of whether this journey is going to the "thing" that leaves my mark in the sand or whether this is something I am embarking upon as an attempt to run away from facing God's call once again. On the flip side, perhaps the tides have indeed changed as has God's call on my life, morphing the expression of discipleship that I am called to live and breathe and emulate.

Makes me wish that I could have a brief cup of tea with one of three wise spiritual mentors. One, because she would ask the hard questions in a way that would make sense and then share her intuitive opinion on what she believed the answers to be. Two, because although I only recently met him, he is a truly incredible young man who frankly - hates change and transition as much as I do and although he couldn't offer tips on how to cope, just sitting in his presence and sharing the hate of transition moments would be enough. And three, because although I detest green tea, she steeps a wonderful cup and whether via custard and bananas or curry or simply a peaceful accent... the world always seems alright from her viewpoint; she always has a plan B, even when having done something completely backwards or downright wrong - scolding and shaping is done in and through love - always, and frankly/finally - I miss her.

But, as these three individuals either live on the other side of the world, are in school themselves, or unreachable - I guess I am left to ponder these waves as any brave soul has done in years gone by: experimentally. Here is to hoping that I do not get sucked under by the pull of the ocean, wiped out by a massive tidal wave, or get lost wandering aimlessly along the beach front of life.

Cheers!