All summer I have been reading a book. I'm reading it slowly because it is so rich. It is both challenging and comforting. It is practical and ethereal at the same time. I highlight and reread over and over as I move through the book. The author states that he wrote this book because it is the kind of book he wished someone had given him at several points during his own spiritual journey, during periods of doubt and struggle. Now I have it for my journey. Here's the premise.
You need a life centered on simple, doable, durable practices that will help you begin and sustain a naked encounter with the holy mystery and pure loving presence that people commonly call God.... By centering around these twelve words our spiritual life becomes our way of remaining awake to God and aliveness, our way of being at home in the universe. Naked Spirituality, Brian McLaren
Each time I read I feel a deeper love for God, and am more inspired to live a grounded, generous life.
This week at a friend's house, I picked up a book on their coffee table. It was obviously a religious book. One minute of skimming and I found that the author was ranting about a dangerous threat to Christians. "What's this book about?" I asked. "It's about centering prayers." my friend replied. "How they mix Buddhism into Christianity and lead Christians off track.
Really? That's the most dangerous threat you can imagine facing Christians? Not apathy or loneliness or hypocrisy....but centering prayers? Some of the same ideas that have revived me this summer? Huummm. I took six very Buddhist deep breaths and stepped away from the book.
Last night I watched the movie American President again. Love it! But Michael Douglas' rousing presidential speech at the end took on a new meaning.
We have serious problems to solve, and we need serious people to solve them. And whatever your particular problem is, I promise you, Bob Rumson is not the least bit interested in solving it. He is interested in two things and two things only: making you afraid of it and telling you who's to blame for it.
As Christians we have serious problems to solve, ...and some people are only interested in two things: making you afraid of it and telling you who's to blame for it.
Jesus had an even more simple guide. By their fruits you will know them. Matthew 7:20
I ended last spring with a 13.1 mile run in Lincoln, Nebraska. Finishing that run was rewarding and enjoyable enough to immediately sign up for another half in October. But I knew that my summer training would have to be more well rounded. My legs were the only parts getting a workout, and they were getting tired of dragging the rest of jello me around.
So I committed to a hellacious 13 week program of core training. Six days a week, 60-90 minutes a day. Yoga, plyometrics, kickboxing, weightlifting, crunches, etc. "Each and every exercise in the Core Synergistics workout recruits multiple muscle groups to build and support the core (lumbar spine and trunk muscles)". I have been sore all summer long. I wish I could say that now I am in perfect shape. But that will take more than a mere summer. I can tell I am getting stronger. My posture is better. I can do exercises that I couldn't do at the beginning of the summer. My endurance has improved. And last night, during my return to running, my sister in law told me that my gait was better. There is hope.
My life was also in need of some core synergistics. This summer I faced the truth that I am a complete and utter morning person. I am literally useless after about 6 pm - just tired and discouraged and dragging around. So I reoriented my schedule. I started getting up at 4:45 or 5, working out, straightening the house, making lunches, reading to the boys, before we all headed off for the day. Then I let myself zombie around in the evening and am strict about my 10 pm bedtime.
I wanted to read more this summer. Interestingly, the random books I have read all somehow fit the core theme. The Dirty Life, a memoir of farming, food and love and The Wilder Life, my adventures in the lost world of Little House on the Prairie, both were enthralling as they talked about simpler times and practices. What Alice Forgot unfolded the story of a woman realizing what was really important in her life.
The best thing I did for my life core was to buy Naked Spirituality, a life with God in 12 simple words. It was just the foundational nourishment my parched, little soul needed. Those words stay with me in my visits, my driving alone, and my full family time. The ideas I am learning are inspiring and refreshing.
This summer I was more intentional about taking initiative for the relationships I needed to nurture. I was more protective of my time and energy. I tried harder to be present with my boys who are growing like summer weeds. And though it was far from a perfect attempt, I can see glimpse of strength and depth that weren't there before. There is hope.
My summer ends next weekend with our annual Labor day trip to the beach. Can't wait for the break and the ocean. And then another season begins, exercising, worshipping and living from a core that's a little bit stronger....
A recent discussion at our team meeting and Nathan's thoughtful blog inspired this post.
"I'm sorry I am so emotional." "I don't mean to be crying right now." "I don't know what is wrong with me." I hear these sentences so often during a visit. And the truth is - if our team is at your house or your bedside, you probably have some really good reasons to cry.
But it's messy, and embarrassing, and revealing, and sad, and private, and..... I spend a lot of time giving people permission to cry. Of course, it's so easy to say. I have to remind myself that too.
Mr. Rogers tells this story.
I remember after my grandfather's death, seeing Dad in the hall with tears streaming down his face. I don't think I had ever seen him cry before. I'm glad I did see him. It helped me know that it was okay for men to cry. Many years later, when my father himself died, I cried: and way down deep I knew he would have said it was all right.
Sniff, sniff. Hand me the kleenex. We can cry together.
One of my favorite questions to ask my patients is "how did you two meet?" Mix a little curiosity with a little romantic spirit with a little time to kill and you have the makings of a great story.
Will was joy riding with 3 other guys in his friend's new car. The flat, straight roads of Florida were tempting them and they pushed way passed the speed limit. Though none of them remember exactly what happened, the car ended up upside down. One guy was thrown from the car, the other three had to cut out of the twisted steel. Will was rushed to the nearest hospital with a collapsed lung, broken leg, broken arm and broken ribs. He was stitched up and patched up and put in a hospital room. Ten minutes later a new, pretty young nurse was assigned to him. He said the minute she walked into his room he knew every broken bone was worth it. It was love at first sight. Sixty one years later I watched her smile as he told their story.
Don was not as poetic. He shared the bare facts. After high school he got a job as a dishwasher as Pisgah View Ranch. It was a dude ranch where doctors and lawyers came to play. Vera was a waitress. They became friends. He was drafted and spent three years in the army. When he got out, he moved back to Asheville and looked Vera up. They got married. That was fifty two years ago.
Jane talked about riding the bus home from nursing training. One day a handsome, older man got on and sat near her. She saw him on the bus every day for two weeks before he asked her out. It was after they were married that she found out he had only ridden the bus to get to know her. He had a car that worked perfectly. They have been riding in cars for the last forty six years.
Each one of these couple have one partner that is dying. I am always inspired by them. Not just by their romantic, old fashioned love stories. I am moved by their commitments to be together til the end. I am touched by the looks and touches of love between them that seem to supersede wrinkles and oxygen, walkers and bed pans.
Today is my anniversary. A mere eighteen years by my patients' standards. But it feels solid and substantial to me. Maybe someday I will be telling a young chaplain about the big basketball player who sat directly in front of me in high school assembly. How I looked at his blue eyes and blond curls and knew that I wanted to have his babies. And maybe our long term love story will inspire her........
