Category: disappointment

Listening to Lent — Bow and Be Simple

barnstormingblog1 Comment
sunset31114
I will bow and be simple,
I will bow and be free,
I will bow and be humble,
Yea, bow like the willow tree.
I will bow, this is the token,
I will wear the easy yoke,
I will bow and will be broken,
Yea, I’ll fall upon the rock.
~Shaker Hymn
 

I am not one to yield to the wind freely.
More poplar than willow,
there is inflexibility rather than suppleness
in my rigid branches and trunk.

This means I break, and frequently,
when bending might be easier.
This means I lie in broken pieces
awaiting salvage, or the flames.

Yea, fallen in fragments upon the rock.

Listening for the Message

barnstormingblog2 Comments

ice216

Every happening, great and small,
is a parable whereby God speaks to us,
and the art of life is to get the message.
~Malcolm Muggeridge

Every day is filled with stories told
and I feel too rushed to listen,
to take time for transformation
by what I see or feel or hear,
no matter how seemingly
small and insignificant.

When I pause
for the parable,
it makes all the difference:

A steaming manure pile
becomes the crucible for my failings
transformed into something useful,
a fertilizer to be spread
to grow what it touches.

An iced-over water barrel
reflects distant clouds
above me as I peer inside,
its frozen blue eye focused
past my brokenness
to mirror a beauty
far beyond.

An old barn roof awaiting repair
has gaps torn of fierce winds,
allowing rain and snow
and invading vines inside
what once was safe and secure,
a sanctuary exposed to storms.

I am looking.
I am listening.
Feeling in need of repair.
To be changed, forever changed.

compostjanuary

missingroof

Places in the Heart

barnstormingblog3 Comments

frost1411

Man has places in his heart which do not yet exist,
and into them enters suffering,
in order that they may have existence.
~Leon Bloy

I see these new heart chambers forming every day.
Spaces filling overwhelmed as if water frozen,
with hurt
and loss
and despair.
So I try
to help patients let go of
their suffering,
let it pass, let its ice melt down,
allow it to pass through,
forgiving, forgiven,
their hearts changed
by a grace
flowing warm
from new found gratitude.

Terrible with Raisins

barnstormingblog4 Comments

woods23

woods20

woods16

This wasn’t just plain terrible,
this was fancy terrible.
This was terrible with raisins in it.
~Dorothy Parker

More and more of my clinic time is devoted to evaluation and treatment of depression and anxiety rather than sore throats, coughs, UTIs and sprains/strains.  An outbreak of overwhelming misery is climbing to epidemic proportions in our society.  A majority of the patients who are coming in for mental health assessment are at the point where their symptoms are interfering with nearly every aspect of their daily activities and they can no longer cope.  Their relationships are disintegrating, their work/school responsibilities are suffering, they are alarmingly self-medicating with alcohol, marijuana and pornography or whatever seems to give momentary relief.   Suicidal ideation has become common, almost normative, certainly no longer rare.

Things seem terrible.  And not just plain terrible.  First-world-problem-terrible with raisins in it.

We have lost all perspective about terrible.

Terrible is what happened to the Philippine people in the midst of the most horrific typhoon this month –losing everything from their lives to shelter to any means to stay warm, fed and secure, much less find medical care.
Terrible is what happens in numerous countries where political oppression sends refugees across hundreds of miles and borders to seek asylum in foreign lands.
Terrible is what happens when hundreds of thousands are dying from AIDs,  leaving behind their infected orphans to fend for themselves and care for each other.
Terrible is trafficking of human beings for power, gratification and money.

There is plenty of just plain terrible and most of us have no clue what it feels like.  We are so absorbed in our own scratches from the ubiquitous thorns of life, grousing about the raisins that pop up in our own version of terrible,  oblivious to the relative comfort with which we are graced daily compared to most of the world’s population.

Sometimes I think the best treatment for anxiety and depression has little to do with correcting brain chemistry or getting to the right cognitive behavioral insights to beat back negative thoughts, but rather to spend a year digging wells and latrines for those who have never used one.   It is spending hours caring for the detoxing or the dying to see what misery really looks like.  It is understanding how the fight for basic survival after an earthquake, a hurricane, a typhoon, a flood, a tsunami,  makes life even more precious, rather than thrown away as if it is something you can simply upgrade or exchange for a new version.

Maybe, just maybe, when we reach in deeply, even sustaining the scars that come with everyday living, we can look past the thorns to the fruit.  We may bleed getting to it.  Maybe then the raisins don’t seem quite so terrible after all.

woods17

woods22

woods11

Send Rain

barnstormingblog3 Comments

redsquare

See, banks and brakes
Now, leavèd how thick! lacèd they are again
With fretty chervil, look, and fresh wind shakes
Them; birds build — but not I build; no, but strain,
Time’s eunuch, and not breed one work that wakes.

Mine, O thou Lord of life, send my roots rain
~Gerard Manley Hopkins from “Thou art indeed just, Lord”

As I look out through a tear-streaked window at the beginning of this dark day,
I fear I’m inadequate to the task before me.
Parched and struggling patients line my schedule;
they are anxious and already weary and barren, seeking something, anything
to ease their distress in a hostile world,
preferably an easy pill to swallow.
Nothing that hurts going down.

While others are thriving around them, they wilt and wither, wishing to die.

Lord of Life, equip me to find the words to say that might help.
May it be about more than genetics, neurotransmitters and physiology.

In this dry season for young lives, send your penetrating rain.
Reach down and shake our roots
fiercely
and slake our thirst.

rain6

morningrain

The Land of Tears

barnstormingblogLeave a comment

drops2It is such a secret place,
the land of tears.
~Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Sometimes not so secret.

Sometimes the landscape of tears is right there for all the world to see, hiding in plain sight, camouflaged by transparency.
Sometimes they glisten jewel-like under the sun, appearing more like fire than water.
May these teardrop sparks dry in place without a trace, self-extinguishing in forgiveness.

Gems remembered, lost in time, and let go.drops3Nobody deserves your tears,
but whoever deserves them will not make you cry.
~Gabriel Garcia Marquezdrops4I always knew looking back on my tears would bring me laughter,
but I never knew looking back on my laughter would make me cry.
~Cat Stevensdrops

Lenten Grace — Wait with Me

barnstormingblogLeave a comment
Borgianni's Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane
Borgianni’s Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane

Jesus said, wait with me. But the disciples slept.

Oh the dear bodies, slumped and eye-shut, that could not
keep that vigil, how they must have wept,
so utterly human, knowing this too
must be part of the story.
~Mary Oliver from “Gethsemane”

Lenten Grace — Sacrament of the Present Moment

barnstormingblog2 Comments
Photo by Kathy Yates
Photo by Kathy Yates

It is in these afflictions, which succeed one another each moment, that God, veiled and obscured, reveals himself, mysteriously bestowing his grace in a manner quite unrecognized by the souls who feel only weakness in bearing their cross…
Jean Pierre du Caussade from The Sacrament of the Present Moment

The past few mornings have unveiled in mist and fog, tentative spring dawns of freezing air and warming soil trying to break loose from the vise grip of a tired and dying winter.

I am struggling under the load of 14 hour work days in addition to keeping a barn clean and animals and humans fed.  Even sleep is not restful when there is so little time to quiet myself in reflection and gratitude.

I am keenly reminded of my weakness as my strength wanes at the end of a long day, having slipped in the mud while trying to gain traction unloading a couple hundred pounds of manure from the wheelbarrow.  Landing on my backside, my pants soaking through,  I can choose to laugh or cry.

I choose to see the baptism of mud as a sacrament of the present moment,  reminding me of my need for a cleansing grace.

I laugh and cry.

Though obscured from view, God is nevertheless revealed in these moments of being covered in the soil of earth and the waste of its creatures.

He knows I need reminding that I too am dust and to dust shall return.
He knows I am too often wasteful and a failed steward, so need reminding by landing me amidst it.
He knows I need to laugh at myself, so puts me right on my backside.
He knows I need to cry, so sends me those with the saddest stories and greatest needs.
He knows I need Him, always and ever more, to restore a sacrament of grace evident in the present moment and every moment to come.

 

Lenten Grace — Wilderness Waiting

barnstormingblog4 Comments
photo by Josh Scholten
photo by Josh Scholten

This is the wilderness time,
when every path is obscure
and thorns have grown around the words of hope.

This is the time of stone, not bread,
when even the sunrise feels uncertain
and everything tastes of bitterness.

This is the time of ashes and dust,
when darkness clothes our dreams
and no star shines a guiding light.

This is the time of treading life,
waiting for the swells to subside and for the chaos to clear.

Be the wings of our strength, O God,
in this time of wilderness waiting.
– Keri Wehlander from “600 Blessings and Prayers from around the world” compiled by Geoffrey Duncan

476897_3195576800612_261615318_o

Lenten Grace — A Table in the Wilderness

barnstormingblog1 Comment

devilstowerwyomingIMG_0100

…faith finds food in famine, and a table in the wilderness.
In the greatest danger, faith says, “I have a great God.”
When outward strength is broken, faith rests on the promises.
In the midst of sorrow, faith draws the sting out of every trouble,
and takes out the bitterness from every affliction.
~Richard Cecil

The table set for us in the wilderness may not be what we hope for nor expect. Only faith can sustain us when the cup is bitter and the meal disheartening. We may choose starvation and thirst rather than eat and drink of trouble and sacrifice.

Even Jesus asked that the cup be taken from Him. Yet He drank from it and handed it over to us.

Even as Jesus walked to Golgotha, breaking under the burden and about to be shattered, He is prepared to hand His body over to us.

He has eaten at this same table so we are no longer alone in the bitter wilderness.

And so we, sharing our hunger, our thirst, our fear, our sorrow and our pain, can say, “We have a great God.”

northcascades