An Invitation
The fire crackled and the crickets sang.The drum beat and the flags lovingly placed ruffled in the wind.
Last night I had the beautiful privilege of attending a prayer flag raising ceremony with some friends. It was a celebration of a life passed on and an invitation to offer up prayers of peace and blessing.My friend rejoiced in the kindness. Mourned the sadness. I stood, before the fire, in the juxtaposition of both, kindness and sadness, the flame of my own small candle flickering in the wind, wax pouring a small streams, spirit hushed.She invited us to offer up our own joy and pain. To write down our own kindnesses and sorrows to place in the fire. An invitation to let go. To uncurl the clenched fists. To wipe clean the slate of sorrow. An outward expression of the inward re-creation. The tough work of being human, of moving on. Forgiving the self. Forgiving those who hurt you.The words I'd written so swiftly across a yellow index card--charred and up in smoke in minutes, seconds.The words that have taken a lifetime to brand themselves to me. A part of my identity. The false identity I choose to see. The lies I choose to cling to. Gone in a swirl of smoke into the night sky.An outward expression of the inward healing.The fire crackles and the crickets sing. How long will it take for the ashes to burn off my soul?
T.S. Tuesday: Driving Out Distraction
Being a T.S. Eliot aficionado finally came in handy when, last night at a trivia pub quiz, one of the questions asked which 20th century poet is best known for the poem "The Wasteland."But I digress. Today's T.S. Tuesday post features an excerpt from my favorite Eliot poem, Burnt Norton from Four Quartets.
"Only a flickerOver the strained time-ridden facesDistracted from distraction by distractionFilled with fancies and empty of meaningTumid apathy with no concentrationMen and bits of paper, whirled by the cold windThat blows before and after time,Wind in and out of unwholesome lungs"
That line: "Distracted from distraction by distraction." How is it possible that Eliot wrote that line before Facebook and Twitter and obsessive email checking and iPhone dinging? Heck, how did he write it before the invention of the internet or even computers?
Apparently, we've always had trouble concentrating; the internet just eases our way into distraction by many memes and web browsers.As I try to set a schedule, a rhythm, a structure for my life, I want to find ways to minimize distraction. To step out of a haze of "Tumid apathy with no concentration."To AWAKE and remain awake. To the mighty movements of God. To the places of pain of those around me. To the gracious gifts of a generous Giver. To the opportunities for engagement, encouragement, connection.I can choose to be awake, to notice. In the moments on the microbus, with my head bent down and shoulders pressed up to the ceiling, crammed next to old women with their woven baskets and old men who smell of sweat and too much cologne. As the bus boy yells out our destination and we careen up the mountain to the small town where I work. Even then, amidst the cacophony of indigenous languages and holding on for dear life, I can choose to notice the glory of God's creation, the diversity of people and backgrounds and destinations that await us all. I can choose to take a moment to pray, to give thanks, to be awake.
In the moments at work, as I sit in front of a computer and will myself to stay off Facebook, I can choose to invite God into my work, into the words that tick across the screen. I can ask Him to bless my efforts, to give thanks for the brain He has given me and this opportunity to create as He creates. I can be awake.In the moments alone in my room, when I miss my friends and family from back home, when I miss their bubbling laughter and quirky schemes, I can turn the longing into a prayer. I can take out my prayer cards scrawled with hopes and dreams and words of encouragement built up over half a year of missing and praying for their good. I can choose to focus. I can choose to pray.I can awake. I can breathe in His presence.With each breath of wind in and out of my own unwholesome lungs, I want to be aware of His presence. Aware of the breath of the Divine within me. And ready to be fully present in the tasks at hand. To drive out distraction with direction from the One who breathes in me.
A Surrender to Structure
“Create structure for yourself. Make sure you establish a rhythm.”
I was told this before I ever even left my job. Everyone pointed out the need to set a schedule or rhythm for life without a 9-5 obligation. Or else I’d go crazy, they said. Even my spontaneous, whimsy-loving friends told me this.
And yet I didn't.
Somehow I felt like setting a schedule was penning God in. After years of nothing but a predictable schedule and responsibilities and not a moment to spare, discipline and order were the last things I wanted.
I thought it was a great opportunity to learn to experience God and purpose outside of structure and a defined role.
But I've been floundering. I’ve been unhappy. I've felt disconnected--from God, from myself, from what I'm passionate about.
Turns out I make a terrible free spirit. Instead of feeling free, I've felt disoriented.
I've written it before: the need to write and pray as a discipline, for my own sanity, even when I don't feel like it.
But it felt like a concession. A last resort to implement only if God didn’t show up without the discipline.
So I didn't do it. Not as a discipline. Not consistently.
If I didn't feel like it, I didn't do it.
And, most of the time, I didn’t feel like writing or praying. I'd rather read in the park or go salsa dancing or sleep in.
I realize now my faulty thinking. Of course God can show up without discipline. Of course God can show up in chaos. But the whole time He was calling me to seek Him even when I couldn't feel Him. To peel my eyes open even when I couldn't see Him.
He was calling me to show up. To be faithful in the small things.
So, after eight months of just going with the flow, I’m giving up. I’m giving up my unspoken commitment to structure-free living. I’m giving up my resentment of discipline.
It's not a concession. Or a refusal to believe that God can show up in the chaos. It's an act of obedience. The obedience He's been calling me to all along.
Even when I don't feel like it, I will do it. I will get up early. I will pray. I will write. I will set a rhythm of life that will help me seek Him.
I will be faithful in this small thing.
Is a there a small thing that you have been resisting? Do you have a daily rhythm or structure that leaves space for seeking God? What is it?