Not my timeline... clearly!

I am 26 and regardless of how many times I "think" I have this whole life thing planned out, I end up completely ass-backwards and am shown yet again, it is not "all about me" and is most definitely... not on my timeline.

Here's da thing...

When I came back from working on a masters program in Western Ontario, I was pretty much in a state of brokenness. I previously thought I knew exactly where my life would end up. I had people I barely knew approaching me and giving testimony to how ecstatic they were that I was "following my true vocation". Among the tangible reminders that they passed onto me prior to setting out east were a study bible, a Hebrew lexicon, and a promise stole.

The bible came from a dear 'soul' friend. You know... that person who you can sit in silence with and still feel refreshed? That was her. We could go for a walk or a cup of tea, and say absolutely nothing or talk about completely mundane things and yet, I would come away truly feeling confident in who I was: a beloved child of God. She had so much faith in me and where my journey was going, she actually gave me her study bible that was gifted to her at one of her ordinations by the Diocese. She had removed the plaque in the front that was inscribed with the details of her ordination, wrapped it up, and gave it to me on my last day of work in the office. I still have the card that she tucked inside the bible.

The Hebrew lexicon came from a lady who, when she went to school, went against the norm and studied Hebrew rather than Greek. For her, she thought that having a solid foundation in the history would put her in good stead for teaching others much of the same. As a youngin' who was not born and raised in the denomination I was seeking ordination, she wanted me to have a piece of 'history' to remind me that regardless of where I went or what I learned in my journey, I would always remember that to everything... there is a past... a previous way of walking, talking, and experiencing.

The promise stole - I have to admit - has been offered back to the individual who gave it to me, numerous times. However, the lady who gifted me the stole is absolutely convinced that (for the time being), *I* am the one who should have it in their possession. I have tried valiantly to convince her that really and truly... I have no need for a stole. Believe me... there are probably hundreds of people who get better use of this lovely and holy piece of fabric than I could right now. She continues to insist that I keep it tucked away in my Hope Chest for now. It actually has a crazy story behind it. There was a woman in the Diocese who was working as an Registered Nurse when she felt called to ministry. My understanding is that she was an emergency room nurse and was amazing at what she did. When it came time for her to be ordained to be a Deacon, she decided to sew all of her vestments and garments. And so, she stitched this beautiful white stole to wear on the feast of her ordination. From there, her ability in making priestly garments only improved and so she decided to pass this stole onto a future "to be ordained" individual as a "promise stole". The idea was that when this seminarian was feeling frustrated, down, or began to question their call, they could look at this stole as a promise that someone truly believed in the fact that God was calling them to ministry... as an encouragement to keep going... to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Fast forwarding a few years, I find myself looking for a spiritual director. Praying about it daily for weeks, I continued to get the same response... for some reason, I was supposed to ask this past-RN to lead me down the spiritual discernment path. She was not one of the Bishop-recommended people at the time and worked with the rough and gruff of our population as the priest in the inner city. A truly incredibly spiritual person. In leading the opening prayer in our meetings, she would say things that I resonnated so deeply, I would find myself startled by it. Things that I had only ever revealed to the Holy Spirit in prayer, would somehow find its way into her words. That was every confirmation I needed to know that it was obviously, right where I needed to be.

So imagine my look of being utterly stunned when another priest approaches me with this stole and tells me the story of how she got it and where it came from and that she prayerfully discerned that I was the next person to hold onto it. Talk about mind-blowing!

Anyway, these three things drove all the way from Alberta to Western Ontario with me and then sadly, four months later, they made the drive back. Currently all three are tucked neatly into my Hope Chest because the individual either doesn't want it back or I haven't quite figured out how to get it back to them without offending them horribly or letting them down because I clearly failed in the 'ordained mission' that they so fervently believed in for me. Some friends still think that in me holding onto them, it means that one day I will come to senses, beg forgiveness, and seek ordination once more.

So when I found myself in this state of brokenness, I had to figure out what it was that I would do with my life while I worked on that "healing" piece, recognizing that it would not just happen over night. What did I do? I applied into a two year, bachelor's program that would find me graduating as a Registered Nurse. The primary reason for applying was not to eventually save people's lives... but rather, give me two years of a completely secular education where I could slowly work on building up the inner strength needed to actually pray again or walk into a church home without that terrorizing feeling of wanting to run in the other direction.

With less than 1/4 of the program left, I find myself no further ahead spiritually. Sure, there have most definitely been obvious signs that God is still there and Christ is knocking on the door and the Holy Spirit becoming tangible in ways I would never have imagined possible... but the timing isn't right.

However, as I was completely focused on thinking that it was my spiritual life I had to heal in a matter of two years, I realized the other day that there is a lot of 'other' healing taking place instead... healing that brokenness that was present long before the spiritual desert. More about that in a later entry. But for now, I shall continue to feel truly, "on top of the world" because while the healing is not what I first anticipated or would have aimed for... it is truly more than I could ever ask or imagine.

A Time for Change

For years... literally, more years than I can remember, I have had this set of flannel sheets. They started off being a royal blue with little yellow stars and cute little sheep as the print; however, after all this time, the blue is now a blue-grey hue, the stars are essentially white (occasionally a yellow one pops up) and the sheep are now replaced with holes of worn fabric.

I know that I need to change the sheets and put my summer ones on, which is normally a happy thing. But today... today there is the realization that when I take the sheep off the bed this season, that will mark the end of their reign as my sole set of comfy flannel. It is like the end of an era.

"...now I lay my sheep to sleep, I pray the Lord their soul to keep..." Well, not quite, but... kinda.

I have fought this life transition so hard and so stubbornly, it is starting to reach the point where my sheets almost have their own aromatic odor. Let me state that I have washed them through the winter, but up until now, I just have not had the inner strength I need in order to change them... one. more. time.

But something changed inside of me this week and I cannot quite put my finger on what that is. I can identify the turning point as being a chat with a friend on our break at an exam... but I cannot put my finger on that "one" thing that changed in order to make this level of inner peace possible.

It was kind of cool actually - it was like a turning point in our friendship. There she was, all wise and crap, being all logical and continually saying, "... but I don't understand your resistance". And for those of you who know this stray little sheep well, know that this would normally make me turtle. My "usual" response to a phrase like this would be, "yea, you're right. Should just get 'er done" and then make a mental note not to share my inner turmoil with that particular friend in the future. But this time... this time, something was different. Maybe it was her patience in waiting out the awkward silence as I tried to find the words to articulate my puking-in-my-mouth fear of the change. And lo and behold, I did!

So together, we sat for no longer than 30 minutes, but we managed to come up with a workable solution: going to talk with someone who would know more of how to help me face this transition... this upcoming hill. And no joke, I slept better that night than I have in weeks.

This week, I found myself sitting in the office of a most superb health professional - you know, that kind that (unlike the majority of their colleagues) goes above and beyond the call of duty. And by the shear grace and "rah-rah-rah" strength of distant friends, I was able to share with her why I could not face the sheet-change era of my journey.

SHE THANKED ME! I am still in shock. This health professional actually thanked me for sharing this piece of my journey with her... she said that she was humbled... and thanked me some more. We chatted briefly about what my two options were - she wrote a note essentially giving me and the higher ups permission to delay the sheet change and then she gave me a list of options that were available for support should I feel called to take the plunge and change the sheets.

It blows my mind... a month ago, I would still be fighting the higher ups, the health professional and the friends... I would fight until I was blue in the face that I needed these sheets to cling to every night for safety... for security... for peace of mind... and for the ability to remember to BREATHE. But this morning, I find myself thinking about actually changing the sheets.

The weather outside is gorgeous - so I could wash my summer sheets and hang them outside for "to die for" summer smell and I could cut these sheep up so that I had a new saxophone-polishing rag, piano dusting rag, and maybe even a square or two for the quilt I am working on (there are some decent patches left on these sheets).

I don't feel like I have the strength or courage to conquer the world yet... but I feel... okay. at peace. rested. I have finally been given the keys that I need to unlock doors which were previously bolted, boarded, and blockaded.

Then again, maybe I am just finally maturing.

St. Benedict on Stability

Tonight... was a challenge. Not the "I see you are out of shape, I challenge you to a game of basketball", nor the "I challenge you to keep silence for 40 days"... but more so the, "I can see into your heart and if you don't want to talk to me, than at least sit there and listen to what I have to say" challenge.

Perhaps it was because I was tired after a week in which two massive midterms were written and a term paper submitted, or perhaps it was because the antibiotics for a sinus infection have finally started to kick in, but I cannot help but feel... slightly overwhelmed. There was an additional cleric visiting the WR this evening, one of incredible wisdom and lived experience; the topic was stability and the effect was profound. She spoke about the meaning of spirituality and how Benedict gives one expression of it. She spoke about well-versed authors and finely written pieces of work. And although I dare not comment on the entirety of her message this evening, there is one subsection of that message that I shall continue to ponder into the wee hours of the morning.

"Get in your cell and stay there... stability is to stay put... stability is to prevent self deception. For only when we stay in one place long after our community can see what we choose to ignore about ourselves and confront us, can we truly experience the grace of God."

I understand very little of this and unfortunately, the more I try and think through it as it pertains to my life in the here and now, the more confused I get. I do not understand where I went wrong... was it when I first left the birth church? Was it leaving the seminary community? Leaving one parish to join another for health/personal/job reasons? What is my cell? Do I need to go back to one of these two church communities to work through this desert with God/belief/trust/fear or can I work these out and then seek peace and reconciliation?

My heart longs to be with my cassock sister, laying on the grass in a long, black robe on the lawns of the Diocesan supported seminary as we read and tried to grapple with the depth of such writings as Benedict and his rule and the always lovely Desert Fathers. For everything that we read made life seem simple and genuine while making faith seem personal and constant. I am learning that this is not the case and more often than not, one's heart is conflicted with one's intelligence.

I have a sinking feeling that the work I started this Ash Wednesday will work on preparing me for the following Easter - like Easter of 2011. In the meantime, I shall continue to read "Girl Meets God" as recommended by UC and maybe pull out the books from the Desert Fathers for a read through. And, as hard as it may be, trust that this darkness too, will end and the questions will resolve.

It's just a piece of paper...

In less than a month, I will walk across a stage, shake some strangers hand, and pick up a piece of paper that says I have officially received my university degree. In facing deadlines in ordering tickets and such, I emailed a friend to find out for sure what her plans were in either attending or not. When she elegantly wrote back to say the timing is less than ideal and she would have to pass, my response to her was simple: "it's okay; at the end of the day, it's just a piece of paper."

It's true. There is nothing in the world that can even come close to capturing the last six years of my life, and most especially, not a mere piece of paper. It is a piece of paper that will probably never be framed and hung on a wall, rather it will sit, packed nicely in a box, and stored in the corner of my closet. It bears the signature of someone whom I will never, personally meet or have a cup of coffee with. People get all excited about receiving this piece of paper. A three hour ceremony, cap and gown, standing and sitting amongst strangers for an entire afternoon - people I will probably, never see again.

My degree is nothing special. It does not give me more relevant wisdom than the man I sit beside on public transit each morning. It does not qualify me as a better citizen, Christian, or friend. It is not unlike the relationships that fill my life; random text messages or emails sent to a friend in which the relationship is merely a ghost of the life-changing journey that was once traversed. It is a piece of paper containing words that are meaningless unless placed in a specific circumstance, much like the communication exchanged between two people who used to have something in common. And most of all, my degree does not give me the answers to the life-agonizing questions that keep me up at night.

The same way that I will stop investing time and effort and concern into relationships that are going nowhere or in which my effort is met with a mere mumble of meaningless words, I find myself wondering if all the hype and hoopla is required in order to get a piece of paper. Because afterall, when the day is done... it's just a piece of paper.

Life vs the Fog

It is not a large picture. It does not need to be. Everyone can relate to that feeling of helpless lostness when travelling through a foggy patch. I was reminded of this in a very tangible way as I was on my way home from hockey tonight/this morning (our ice time was at 11pm so I arrived home around 1 in the morning).

For drivers (around here anyways), driving in fog requires the perfect balance between driving with a sense of confidence and competence, and tentative caution. Realistically, one could hit a deer or moose and be in serious trouble at any point along the familiar stretch of road and with heavy fog, it is impossible to see anything until it is right in front of you... when it is often much to late to react safely. The same is true for cars or other hazards. A car may have applied their brakes in plenty of time, have properly indicated they are turning and yet... as the car behind them, one has no idea until they are literally feet behind the virtually stopped car.

However, for ones own safety, it is best to drive faster than a snails pace so as to not be rear ended by the over zealous truck that is screaming down the highway. Often, the fog will not lift or disperse if you drive slower... and the flip side to driving a relatively safe and quick pace is that one is through the worst of the fog within seconds and back to being able to drive safely with 100% visibility.

Funny how often life is manifest in the weather situation, do you not agree? How there are always going to be some moments in life in which, momentarily and short term - the answer seems to be that we ought to just stop. Pull over to the side of the road, maybe wait until mid morning for the fog to burn off before continuing on our way. There will most definitely always be those moments in life in which we can not see how many fingers we are holding up, let alone where to turn, where to run, where to hide, where to venture, where to conquer. Those moments in which we are truly overtaken by circumstances beyond our control.

The only challenge that the life/fog paradox poses is that with fog, even an elementary child could point out that the sun will eventually come out and burn through the lower level of cloud or after a certain period of time, the fog will truly lift and no longer be an issue. This is a proven, scientific fact. We know "x" will happen because "y, d, a and n" happened. But with life, the story is different. We don't know what the variables "y, d, a, and n" truly are. Nor do we have the insight to "guesstimate" whether or not "x" is even possible.

Someone should work on changing that sometime soon. Just sayin'...

Lost

Others see me, and tell me that I am lost. They point me out to all their friends and whisper about how I have strayed from "the way", whatever "the way" really is. To them, I am different. I no longer do things the same way that they do, nor pretend to understand the same things they pretend to. Although I look the same as I always have, to them... for some reason, I am different.

But they are wrong. I dare not tell them, for I fear their reaction. I have not changed at all; au contrar as the French would say, for on the contrary, I have not changed. I have withdrawn.

I have pulled myself away from this insane world we all call home for a moment of solace. In an attempt to figure things out, I have pulled back. It is here that I sit, confused, quiet, and tearful. There is nothing that I can do to ease the pain of a loved one or to soothe their stormy lives and so here I pause. I am trying to find courage, discover strength, inspire hope. I am not punishing myself or satisfying those who wish not to see me... but simply problem solving or pondering the many paths I can take upon leaving this inner wilderness. I just need to think through what would be the best for you, one of the few people I would do anything for.

An odd day

... and I'm still in bed.

It was a long night with very little sleep happening and while I cannot comment in detail, the summary sounds something like this.

Yesterday, I had two hours of training for an exam that I am working at the end of the month and while this would normally cause me to be absolutely ecstatic (and doubly so as the race car driving friend was DOING the training), it was an immense struggle. Because life happens, I had not looked over the material as well as I should have, even the intelligent questions that I had about it were asked all whilst still sounding stupid, and I even flubbed up one of the easier questions I was asked over that two hour span.

Then, while at work, the young man that I work with had asked if he could put his phone number and coinciding picture in my phone in case I was ever going to be late, (or whatever) and then I could call and let him know. Thinking this was a totally reasonable request, I did not even hesitate to pass my phone over. He was playing around with it as we drove the 30 minutes to our destination, not giving it back to me until we arrived to where we were going and he got sidetracked with catching up with old friends. Totally ok. However, as I was dropping him back off at home, he began apologizing and told me that he may have forgot to hang up from a call or two when he was looking through the contact list.

Sure enough, checking my "who did I call" list, I came across two individuals in my contact list that I had not called personally and whose calls lasted upward to 10 minutes in duration (presumably, this was the point in which their answering machine cut my phone off). Completely embarrassed and apologetic for potentially using up their mailbox, impacting their day, and the like... I called them both back immediately, apologizing for what had happened.

Then, last night on the way to hockey, there I am.... driving down the highway into the city when I start crying. There was no valid reason. I assure you. Rather, I was told by siblings that my car drew the short stick and would need to be parked outside that night so that they didn't have to get up and scrape their windows. For whatever reason, I felt the need to cry.

While at hockey, was defending our goalie in our end of the ice, when some large man from the opposing team came plouging into me from behind. This is, as you know hockey fans, illegal. After an NHL player got his neck snapped because of a hit from behind, this move is enough to earn you an immediate removal from the game as well as a review from the league in which you play. However, the referee felt that this hit did not even warrant a whistle and completely outraged, I first went after the player and then the referee. At which point, there was a game misconduct awarded, but not to the other man, but myself.

For what's it worth, I hate Oct. 7th. Three years ago yesterday marked the day I lost my grandfather and one year ago yesterday marked the day I got a phone call from across the country and seminary life as I knew it, was done.

Sigh.

Today is a day of trying to move forward and find tiny things in life to celebrate - like the fact that it is snowing outside. However, I think that the best way to accomplish that would be to pull the guitar, tune 'er up, and to sing the song that I wrote for a man who deserves to be remembered. Today just as much as yesterday and tomorrow.

My fingers are numb...

I was always taught when growing up, that if the world ever gave you something that stirred that urge inside of you to punch something/someone else, reach for an ice cube.

Well, my fingers are number than numb, so what I'm trying to say is that any spelling errors I make, are not my fault.

My fingers are numb because I am upset about the human condition and how people have been trained to respond to tragedy by saying, "I'm sorry...." I understand that there is a certain level of empathy at play here, whereby the other person is acknowledging the pain of a situation by potentially apologizing for the fact that life sucks. I get that.

But honestly, it is THEE most unhelpful, pointless, mundane, ambivilent phrase in the English language. Those two cursed words should be reserved for apologies and apologies only, where you are at fault for something and you are remorseful. And, as a huge introvert who likes to ponder the shit out of every little thing, I would rather hear "Wanna talk?" than "I'm sorry". Seriously. Because I would be more open to talking through how much life sucks and hearing their honest, unreserved account of why life either sucks or it doesn't than to hear that they are "sorry" for some random misfortune that they had absolutely no part in.

I don't know... maybe I'm just upset because on a night where I need to talk the days events out, the two people I turn to, immediately drop the "I'm sorry" bomb on the conversation as if it will make everything better. Or, maybe it's true... maybe "I'm sorry" is a phrase that is abused in our lexicon and we need to work on changing this.

Up to you. I'll supply the ice cubes.

Feelers

Everyone, at some point, has done that thing in life where they first send feelers into a conversation, testing the waters to see if the other person is open to having a deep conversation about the shit-tayness that comes with life. Sometimes we discover that in fact, this the person we can talk to, confide in, and share the strains and stresses of the day while other times, the radar comes back, "NO WAY NO WAY NO WAY" for whatever reason. The other person is too busy or preoccupied or would just prefer to not participate in such a conversation.

Often, when people are sending feelers out to us, it's obvious - they give subtle hints that there is something bugging them that they want to talk about, but sometimes - we haven't the slightest clue until something triggers us much later in the day.

This morning, I was running behind. There is too much bubbling around between these ears to get a good night sleep as of late, so when the alarm goes - there is a consider amount of grumbling, moaning, and sighing to start the day. Racing through the shower, throwing a lunch together and trying to find clean clothes to wear (not in that order -and our wash machine is broken) in 15 minutes was a challenge. And when sibling #2 stood in the porch entryway in her pj's while I tried to find shoes and get out the door, I didn't even take a moment to ponder why she asked, "Did you hear what happened last night?" I honestly thought she was going to tell me about someone who came into work, someone passed on a juicy piece of community gossip or that her ball team qualified for the playoffs (this last one would truly be a long shot, but I was being optimistic). If I would have taken 2 seconds (seconds!) to look up at her before I answered, my answer would have been different. But, I didn't. She was putting out the feelers, and I was completely ignoring the fact that she was doing so. "No, but can we talk about it when I get home this afternoon? I am going to miss the bus and that would be a bad thing!"

"Yea" she said... and didn't move as I turned and ran out the door.

I got a phone call/voice message during my class that was a frantic and upset sibling #2, mumbling something about how she was had called into work to let them know she couldn't go in, and they were insisting on having a doctor's note.

After calling her back, returning the message from the doctor's office about a surgery date, and re-arranging some work commitments I had that afternoon, I found out in a hysterical manner that a friend of the family was killed in an ATV accident last night; there was no way she was going into work, let alone - hold herself together long enough to tell me what was going on over the phone.

Later in the afternoon, as I was heading home to switch vehicles and clothes for class tonight, the events of the past few days had hit hard and I too, needed to be momentarily hysterical with someone. So, just like my sibling did this morning, I put the feelers out to someone I felt comfortable talking to - and surprisingly, got the same "NO WAY NO WAY NO WAY" response that I had given my sister this morning. They had a long day, an appointment stood them up, and will be moving in the next week and probably had a million other shrimp in their frying pan to saute, without adding mine into the mix as well.

Needless to say, I felt like a shmuck. It's funny how we learn our lessons... that simple, pop-psych phrase, "what goes around, comes around" is so true. My sister needed 30 seconds of time this morning, to call her work and explain in a calm fashion that she truly couldn't work today, and I pushed it off until "later". But now, thankfully, I have seen this case from the otherside - from the "I need to talk" side when someone is just not receptive to talking at that given point in time.

Lesson learned. Next time it is incredibly obvious that someone is putting feelers out into my waters, I will take that moment to glance up, make sure they're okay, and "be there" for them. Today's lesson is brought to you by the letter J, the colour: pea-ish green, and the number 3.