Another Witness

One of my favorite ideas to discuss with people is how God shows up unexpectedly in their lives. Whether its new thought while being still, the words of a child, the testimony of a part of nature that tells us something about the Creator, or a shift in perspective in response to experience, I hunger for these conversations. In his book 'A Grief Observed', C.S. Lewis wrote that "My idea of God is not a divine idea. It has to be shattered time after time. He shatters it himself. He is the great iconoclast. Could we not almost say that this shattering is one of the marks of his presence? The Incarnation is the supreme example; it leaves all previous ideas of the Messiah in ruins." An iconoclast is someone who attacks settled beliefs, and while initially I found the idea of Christ as iconoclastic distasteful, I now see it as rather fitting. I think of the response of people when Christ was on the earth as He taught with power and authority. Some were converted, some were resistant, some wanted to silence him, but I believe ALL were astonished. All were surprised. Christ and His teachings were not what anyone expected, despite years of prophecy. He changed perspectives with the depth of His love, the breadth of His vision, and the precision of His miracles. 

While I have had some shattering experiences that have led me to a greater understanding of God's character, this week was more of an unexpected and gentle nudge, a discovery that came quietly and powerfully all at once. I settled into thinking as the sacrament was blessed and passed with the repetition in the prayers persistently pulling my attention. What we witness--or profess or see taking place--is that we do always remember God's Only Begotten Son. I recognized today that what God wants the most from me is to remember Him, to cultivate a relationship with Him, to keep Him in my soul always. This thought made a difference for me today and it refueled my stores of faith that a difficult week had all but depleted. 

I am grateful that a testimony is continually created and recreated. It is reshaped, reformed, refined as we take time to tend to it. Sometimes that reshaping is a gradual and gentle nudge. Sometimes it is a shattering. Sometimes it is somewhere in between, but any and all ways it comes, a testimony from the Holy Ghost to our spirits is true and can be trusted. And if there is a delay in understanding or the coming of a blessing, I trust and I hope and I believe that it will be worth the wait. I love what Adam S. Miller says about learning who God is. He wrote "When God knocks, don't creep to the door and look through the peephole to see if he looks like you thought he would. Rush to the door and throw it open." I hope that I prepare room in my heart for the unimaginable glory of Christ so that I can welcome Him immediately with joy. 

 

Adversity

ad·ver·si·ty

/ədˈvərsədē/

noun

a state of grave or persistent misfortune.  

I've been thinking about this word a lot lately, dear reader.  It's origin means "turn toward," which I feel is significant.  Turn toward what?  Toward whom?  Toward where?  Is adversity confrontational?  If so, what or who do we confront in these moments of continued difficulty or misfortune?  

In my experience with adversity, I often turn away first.  I resist and push against and pull against and refuse to budge or try to turn a blind eye to it all.  Resistance in weight lifting can be beneficial, but resisting adversity in life generally leads to frustration.  Ignoring adversity by seeking distraction or other occupation works temporarily, but it consistently fails me.  The persistence of adversity outlasts our resistance to it.  Adversity is meant to be borne, not avoided.  

When I turn toward my adversity, paying attention to it--not so I can pull out some weapon from behind me and vanquish it--but approaching it and sitting in whatever discomforting space that challenge holds for me, I learn.  I experience.  I feel.  I come to the beginning of understanding.  I confront myself, with all my idealizations and falsehoods I hold like flimsy water noodles in a stormy ocean, grasping them for support they cannot give.  Adversity requires me to let go of these and instead press toward the life preservers of truth that can and do and will help me get through. 

Adversity facilitates development, and the choice or accepting our adversity is a catalyst of that process.  In choosing this reaction to challenges, I feel to bless and appreciate rather than resist God.  I trust that He understands perfectly our adversity, for "in all their affliction he was afflicted, and the angel of his presence saved them: in his love and in his pity he redeemed them; and he bare them, and carried them all the days of old" (Isaiah 63:9).   The Lord has not only borne our griefs and carried our sorrows, he has borne and carried us.  Prophets foretold that His name should be called Emmanuel, for God is with us in all our circumstances.  And why?  He loves us.  He loves us enough to not take away adversity, but to sustain us and teach us in it, that we may grow. "And though the Lord give you the bread of adversity, and the water of affliction, yet shall not thy teachers be removed into a corner any more, but thine eyes shall see thy teachers" (Isaiah 30:20).  Adversity and affliction become invitations to see the Lord at work in us, to see Him no longer in the corner--supervising and giving the occasional smile of encouragement--but to see Him close, yoked with us.  

We can turn all sorts of ways when adversity comes to call.  Sometimes we anticipate a challenge, and sometimes it blindsides us, but there is always grace sufficient for us.  Because of God's grace, adversity deepens joy.  Its like sea salt in caramel or balsamic vinegar with strawberries, these unlikely parings that balance sweet with sharp and bitter and thus create a more complex, satisfying, sensational taste.  Charles H. Spurgeon said well, “I bear my witness that the worst days I have ever had have turned out to be my best days. And when God has seemed most cruel to me he has then been most kind. If there is anything in this world for which I would bless him more than for anything else it is for pain and affliction. I am sure that in these things the richest tenderest love has been manifested to me. Our Father's wagons rumble most heavily when they are bringing us the richest freight of the bullion of his grace. Love letters from heaven are often sent in black-edged envelopes. The cloud that is black with horror is big with mercy. Fear not the storm. It brings healing in its wings and when Jesus is with you in the vessel the tempest only hastens the ship to its desired haven.”  Worst days are the worst and feel the worst, sometimes for a long time.  Keep at it.  God is at work with us in them.  In our adversity, we choose what we turn toward and as such, we choose whether we see Him or not.  

Letters

Among the many classes I enjoyed in college, the one called "American Love Letters" ranks in the top three.  Here, our class examined early American history through epistles, both actual letters to individual people and other letters to an imagined audience.  We studied epistolary novels such as J. Hector St. John de Crèvecœur's Letters from an American Farmer, searched letters to the editor and letters from notable American revolutionaries, and poured over the tender and insightful letters between Abigail and John Adams.  Our professor hoped to instill in us a love for the handwritten letter--indeed, he listed it as one of the objectives and assigned us to write letters as part of the course assignments!  These assignments strengthened my connections with others in ways unique to letters; delivering them and having them read in front of me deepened my insight on what it means to be bashful and how deeply I could blush, while the simple act of writing to others turned my attention outward.

Ever since then I have been particularly fond of letters.  While this form of communication may be antiquated in today's helter-skelter paced exchange (with notifications of when your text message was read and phone settings that include having notifications pushed into your awareness), I believe it is timeless.  There is something so magical and exciting about receiving a letter.  You don't really know when it was sent or what it may be about, and how you receive it is entirely up to you.  You can tear open the envelope at the mailbox, devouring its contents in haste; you can take it in with you, set it aside with curiosity and wait until you can process it.  You can read it all, immediately, without interruption; you can take it piece by piece, walking away from it or setting it down.  You can read it once or several times.  You can throw it away or tear it to pieces or burn it or frame it or cherish it.  It is a physical object usually just from one person and usually just meant for one person--YOU.

Naturally, when I happened upon this book on the library shelves, I took it with me.  And, finding this one as I sat in the parked car on the driveway, door opened to enjoy the fresh spring breeze, my spirits could not been better cheered.  And I wanted to share it with you, dear reader.  I am thinking of writing such a letter of encouragement to myself.  I could use it.

Here is E.B. White (the thoughtful writer who gave us Stuart Little and Charlotte's Web and host of other good reads) in response to a man's despair at the state of humanity in 1973.  May it lift you as it lifted me.

Dear Mr. Nadeau:

As long as there is one upright man, as long as there is one compassionate woman, the contagion may spread and the scene is not desolate. Hope is the thing that is left to us, in a bad time. I shall get up Sunday morning and wind the clock, as a contribution to order and steadfastness.

Sailors have an expression about the weather: they say, the weather is a great bluffer. I guess the same is true of our human society — things can look dark, then a break shows in the clouds, and all is changed, sometimes rather suddenly. It is quite obvious that the human race has made a queer mess of life on this planet. But as a people we probably harbor seeds of goodness that have lain for a long time waiting to sprout when the conditions are right. Man’s curiosity, his relentlessness, his inventiveness, his ingenuity have led him into deep trouble. We can only hope that these same traits will enable him to claw his way out.

Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day.

Sincerely,

E. B. White

Witness

Fasting brings a sense of clarity to life and I am grateful for the opportunity to do it each month or as often as I feel it would be good.  Usually, I fast with other members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on the first of the month, but this November there have been several conferences and such that made this past Sunday our designated time to fast.  As part of our weekly worship service, rather than have prepared speakers share their thoughts, the pulpit is open to anyone and everyone who would like to share their testimony of Jesus Christ.  I generally go kind of pale and shaky and quiver voiced when I share my thoughts, but despite all those reservations, I felt that I wanted to declare publicly my experiences and gratitude for my Savior, Jesus Christ.  

I used to think that if you kept God's commandments and tried to be like Jesus that life would be a piece of cake, a series of blissful stages with everything going the way that you liked.  Ha.  That is NOT what happens.  And its not even what God promises us as we do keep His commandments, so I don't know where my conclusion came from.  Life is hard and trying, no matter who you are.  Yet, rather than balk at that and refuse to accept it, I am learning that hard is good.  It really is.  And because it is hard and because Jesus has personally experienced how hard it is for each individual one of us, God promises His Spirit to be with us to grant us peace, hope, and blessings as we strive to follow Him, remember Him, and keep His commandments.  These following thoughts are what I know and feel to be true.  

God is good. We can trust Him. This is truth I have really wrestled with the past several months, but something of which I am sure. He is real. He knows us perfectly and loves us perfectly. He gets it. He sees the big picture and I am so grateful for that. Because I don’t and get impatient and frustrated and irritated, etc., as He tries and proves my heart. He is willing to listen to anything and everything, no matter how many times we say it. He has high expectations, and helps us rise and become what He sees in us, especially when we don’t see it ourselves.  

I know that Jesus Christ loves. He lives and loves as His Father does and shares His expectation of us, to become perfect. He has perfect empathy and leads us to every good thing. He is incredible. I can hardly imagine what He was feeling before He went to the Garden of Gethsemane as he shared these words (John 16:33): “These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.” His encouragement, confidence, and trust in His Father and His own role in His Father’s plan for the salvation and exaltation of His children awes me. He invited His disciples then to have peace in Him and be of good cheer. He invites us as His disciples now to do the same. 

I know that because of Jesus Christ, we can change. With him, we can have light, hope, patience, faith, love, and every good thing, no matter what our circumstance might be. I am so grateful that what He requires is a willing heart, because sometimes even that sometimes deceptively simple state is a battle for me to get to. I am grateful for His unwavering love, His grace, and His goodness. His grace is real and I have experienced it in my life.  

This is His true and living church, I love and am grateful for how Joseph Smith worked with our Heavenly Father to restore it to the earth. I am so grateful for prophets. I love them and know that they are holy men. I am so grateful for God’s sometimes overwhelming call to be like Him—to be holy and whole—and His support and comfort and strength and goodness as we strive to accept His call. He is unfailingly good, endlessly kind, and unfathomably beautiful. 

Reflecting on some experiences in my life and the lives of others, I cried out silently in prayer, “I don’t see how will this EVER turn into something beautiful and for my good.” God’s gentle response was: “Linds, you don’t need to see it. Trust me, it will be for your experience, and, yes, your good.” That simple answer has helped me immensely, and gives me strength to try to be like Him, my Savior, my Redeemer, my most compassionate and understanding and wise friend, one whom I am trying to accept as my master. He has been here and He is coming again. That is so exciting. He is always here, and we can find Him as we turn toward Him. I love this quote by Charles Spurgeon: “Do not despair, dear heart, but come to the Lord with all your jagged wounds, black bruises, and running sores. He alone can heal, and He delights to do it. It is our Lord’s office to bind up the brokenhearted, and He is gloriously at home at it.” 

That is true. No matter who deep, incurable, severe, painful, or unending our hurt or challenges or tribulation are, Christ can and will heal us. And we become the better for it. He can do the impossible, I know it.  I know this is true and I am grateful for it. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen. 

As I was writing this, a lot of what I feel can be summed up in the words of a hymn that I love called ‘Come Ye Disconsolate’. Here are the words: 

Come, ye disconsolate, where'er ye languish;

Come to the mercy seat, fervently kneel.

Here bring your wounded hearts; here tell your anguish.

Earth has no sorrow that heav'n cannot heal.

Joy of the desolate, Light of the straying,

Hope of the penitent, fadeless and pure!

Here speaks the Comforter, tenderly saying,

"Earth has no sorrow that heav'n cannot cure."

Here see the Bread of Life; see waters flowing 

Forth from the throne of God, pure from above.

Come to the feast of love; come, ever knowing

Earth has no sorrow but heav'n can remove.

Unseen vs Invisible

Dear reader, how are you?  We are in the midst of fall, a glorious season with crisp apples, crisp autumn air, crisply pressed sweaters, and crisp colors.  I hope this finds you well.

This season finds me well enough.  About a month ago though, a parasite decided to make my intestinal tract its new home and I now have a new appreciation for the power of invisible forces.  I felt like my wish for washboard abs got confused and instead I was granted the sensation of having my intestines wrung on a washboard by a burly washerwoman.  Let me tell you, that washboard can do a number on your gut.  The experience got me thinking about the words unseen and invisible.  Invisible means "unable to be seen; not visible to the eye" while unseen means "not seen or noticed."  These words are remarkably similar--one could even argue they are synonyms--but I feel that they have important enough differences to be careful with how we use them.

I attach invisible to words that we experience but cannot really see: love, pain, fear, peace, faith, grief, joy, doubt, basically any feelings.  While the invisible is not in itself visible to the eye, we do manifest these feelings, and generally choose how to do so.  Smiles indicate happiness or pleasure, grimaces reveal pain, and so on.  This is where unseen comes in.  Unseen refers to that which is there, but not revealed or shared or noticed.  It is more linked to choice than invisible.  The invisible cannot really help being invisible, but the unseen hinges on a individual's willingness to reveal or observe what is really there.  This interaction between Batman and Alfred illustrates this reticence to share and thus remain unseen wonderfully.

Sometimes I feel that if I decide to let something I feel go unseen, that feeling doesn't exist.  Unfortunately, this usually backfires.  BAD.  Really, awfully, terribly, cringeworthy bad.  Bringing the unseen to light is excruciatingly uncomfortable for me, but each time I have done it, others met it with compassion, appreciation, and concern.  Why?  Because people generally get it.  They have their own battles and tendencies to let the invisible go unseen as well.  H. Jackson Brown Jr. urges us to "remember that everyone you meet is afraid of something, loves something, and has lost something."  I think he is on to something.  When we do remember these, our interactions change.  Listening and sincerity and kindness take the place of jabbering and comparison and selfishness.  We may not change overnight, and misunderstandings still happen, but the world shifts from lonely and irritated isolation to healing and invigorating community.

My siblings, some of my favorite people...and the photographer's logo 

One of my favorite thinkers, Wendell Berry, writes that "healing is impossible in loneliness; it is the opposite of loneliness. Conviviality is healing. To be healed we must come with all the other creatures to the feast of Creation."  I'm inclined to agree.  While I don't think that healing requires us to be with others all day, every day (my introverted self would crumble at such a requirement...or just be content with being unhealed), I do think God in his mercy and wisdom, generously provides family and friendships and community to help us be whole.  It takes a lot of work and an unfathomable amount of patience, but it is beautiful.  

A Favorite

Lines written in the days of growing darkness, by Mary Oliver

Every year we have been

witness to it: how the
world descends

into a rich mash, in order that
it may resume.
And therefore
who would cry out

to the petals on the ground
to stay,
knowing as we must,
how the vivacity of what was is married

to the vitality of what will be?
I don't say
it's easy, but
what else will do

if the love one claims to have for the world
be true?

So let us go on, cheerfully enough,
this and every crisping day,

though the sun be swinging east,
and the ponds be cold and black,
and the sweets of the year be doomed.

Norway

May I share with you some thoughts about my visit to this country?  It is MAGNIFICENT.  It awed me and then effortlessly outdid itself and awed me again at least a dozen times.  I loved being there and especially being there with ones that were dear to me.  

Fam + flag= fabulous

VIKINGS, or as the natives sometimes said WIKINGS

Love is light

Hahaha, we kind of continue the red and blue pattern.  Folk life then and now. 

Mum.  What an incredible woman. 

The first week I spent with my mom and sister in Oslo, a bustling but friendly metropolitan area with plenty to do, and Kristiansand, a delightful smaller town happily established with mountains on one side and the sea on the other.  The sites were lovely and the company even more so, and the generosity of those who hosted us surprised me again and again.  After much laughter, exploration, and rejoicing, my mom headed up north to meet her parents who are serving as missionaries in Trondheim while my sister and I met up with a close friend of mine to hike Priekestolen.  

Iconic Norwegian Waffles

This hike included traipsing along stone-slab built staircases, a meadow of spiderweb strewn grass shimmering with dew, lake pocketed expanses of rock to get to the destination: a 604 meter (1,982 foot) cliff overlooking the Lysefjorden.  I loved the hike, though I must admit, as one who is extremely wary of heights due to an inexplicably deep fear of falling from them, the idea of coming to the edge generously gave me some apprehension.  When we arrived, mist and clouds swirled over the fjord and just beyond the cliff and this obscurity somehow provided me the gumption to approach the edge. 

a

Surreal Meadows

And you know what, dear reader?  I did it.  I came to the edge.  And I kind of loved it.  I sat there, feeling fear and yet not being overwhelmed with it like I had before.  Swinging my legs over the edge and experiencing the view from that edge was remarkable.  Exhilarating.  Serene.  I became audacious enough to go back when the skies had cleared spend some more time at the edge, this time seeing exactly what was there.  Still the same incredible feeling, yet perhaps with a greater dose of the precariousness of my perch.  I love the clarity and courage I felt there.  I felt deeply grateful such a place existed and that I experienced being there.  

 

We Three

Feeling renewed, we headed back down the trail and took time to admire tiny frogs and tadpoles surrounding the lakes we'd passed earlier...and then diving into the lake to join them.  Wonderfully cold.  So wonderfully cold.   

Delight 

That appreciation continued as my sister headed to Bergen and my friend and I ventured through ferries, tunnels, mountain roads, switchbacks, and some of the narrowest roads ever to the the Valley of Waterfalls, Odda, and Trolltunga.  The beauty of the roads, green deep woods surrounding lakes and waterfalls, some sheep and few houses stunned me.  And then we arrived to Låtefossen.  The power of water as it surged over two wide twin falls was majestic.  A smaller waterfall mimicked the greater waterfall with its white plunging flow at the base of our camp that night, though thankfully it growled rather than roared.  

One side of Låtefossen

We arose early to start our ascent to Trolltunga and the day greeted us with us mist, which stayed with us until we reached the summit.  My friend captured it perfectly in saying that it muffled the trail and I couldn't agree more.  While several hikers joined us on the trail, the mist blurred them into vague outlines and kept the surroundings well hidden.  Droplets of water clung to our hair and skin, not quite drenching us the way a sudden dousing in a stream or lake did, but deliberately settling on us for a while.  It was ethereal and as we came to a meadow, we could see that here too the mist here had gifted drops of water, though this time to the foliage.  The light on them created something storybook like, and it seemed that we were bound to encounter a troll or fairy or some sort of fantasy creature on our way.  And while we did not see one, we did a little harmless trolling of our own by wading in a stream under a bridge after finishing the hike.  

Before

  

After

Once we had come to the impressive (yet a slightly overrated) protrusion that is Trolltunga's boast, the sun shooed the mist away and we could see all that we had passed through--huge fields of boulders and vast expanses of stone.  My friend and I marveled at the difference between the two hikes and that we had crossed all of this without even knowing it because of the mist.  Mist, man.  It is wispy, but by no means wimpy.  It is a powerful force that shapes your perception.  

Trolltunga

The intrepid, generous, remarkable Kassia

We then made our way to Bergen, a completely different feel than quiet and quaint Odda.  Bergen is a little more ostentatious than the other sites we visited, and it has every reason to be with Grieg's home and composition in its vicinity, a bustling seaside market with buildings several hundreds of years old, vantage points with sweeping views of the harbor, and an impressive collection of trolls kept within a forest.  It is also home to a nocturnal bird with one of the eeriest calls I have ever heard.  It added to the mystery of the place, upping the suspense by several points.  (I feel that I must add at least one piece by Grieg to complete this post.  He deeply appreciated music, and composed some incredible pieces, and they may deserve their own post soon.  Until then, this piano piece will suffice.)

Grieg's Workspace

Grieg's Backyard

Bergen Harbors Stellar Nightlights

Fjord Morning

The Land of Hobbits, Trolls, Fairies, and possibly Robin Hood

As our time in Norway tapered off, we spent a day on the water in a guided kayaking tour.  That perspective and the rhythm of paddling in the water and feeling so small shouldered by huge cliffs on either side and a broad stretch of water between them brought back more exhilaration and serenity.  The water was so cold and clear, the green of the trees so bright and vivacious, and the sky wonderfully blue.  It was glorious.   

Kayaking Stop

Another Waterfall; Just Norway Being Cool Again

Dear reader, the landscape in Norway is venerable, severe but not unkind. It is fierce and unpretentious in its beauty.  Water spills from massive heights, seeps through rocks and soil, whisperingly gathers in mist, surges in beautiful rivers, lies in repose in lakes and fjords while glistening meekly with light.  Water feels so abundant here, and perhaps that is one reason it felt so clarifying.  Cliffs are quietly vibrant with moss and boulders and trees and lichen and flowers and brambles and grass.  The pristine and powerful wilderness proudly waits there to be faced and admired by venturers.  There is a sort of weariness to it, as moss covered rocks and forests imply several years of growth and experience.  Yet with that weariness, there is also an incredibly deep peace there; acceptance of what has happened and an ability to yield.  Norway is rich, and an abundantly willing giver of good gifts if you are brave enough to ask for them with some effort. Bracingly cold swims in some of the clearest water, sweet berries for spotting and picking and savoring, cheery trolls to discover, beautiful climbs that result in stunning vistas. It is something else. Being there was invigorating.  

Sverd i fjell

Sometimes I saw Norway as a weathered soldier, elegant stately trees decorating the shoulders of battle torn valleys, fjords left by relentless, powerful, irrepressible, inescapable glaciers. Are they retreating? Or simply moving on to carve and leave scars on other lands?  It is painful, but beautiful, yielding deep, gently salty fjords in its wake, or boulders of all sizes scattered in fields.  My brother brought up a good point that the landscape and the people there mirror one another.  The Vikings who lived there were a fierce people, undaunted in the face of anything and experience plenty of setbacks.  Yet their artifacts demonstrate such artistry, such craftsmanship, that words such as brutish or boorish that people often label Vikings with don't seem to stick anymore.  

Go North, young man.  Norway harbors adventure, clarity, beauty, and much more for you.  

In the Meantime

I promise I will write all about Norway soon.  There is so much I am excited to share with you, dear reader!  Norway is truly a wonder.  Until I gather my thoughts together, here is a video my close friend shared with me while I was there to tide you over.

A Word Defined, and Lived | Stumble

Usually to stumble is not that pleasant.  It can be embarrassing, painful, surprising.  Yet I am convinced that there can be a certain sort of delight in stumbling, almost a magic in it.  As a departure from the ordinary, it reminds us of the grace that encompasses this world.  I do a fair amount of moving clumsily in my life (as anyone listening to me play the organ can attest).  I love the way words shift their meaning depending on the context in which you use it, blending with other words to create an idea.  With that in mind, I would like to share with you the various definitions of "stumble" as well as some ways I stumble and what they teach me.   

Stumble.

1.  trip or momentarily lose one's balance; almost fall.
"her foot caught a shoe and she stumbled"
synonyms: trip (over/up), lose one's balance, lose/miss one's footing, slip
"she stumbled and fell heavily"

2.  trip repeatedly as one walks.
"his legs still weak, he stumbled after them"
synonyms: stagger, totter, teeter, dodder, blunder, hobble, move clumsily
"he stumbled back home"

3.  make a mistake or repeated mistakes in speaking.
"she stumbled over the words"
synonyms: stammer, stutter, hesitate, falter, speak haltingly;

4.  find or encounter by chance.
"they stumbled across a farmer selling 25 acres"
synonyms: come across/upon, chance on, happen on, bump into, light on

Sometimes our stumbling leaves us scraped, as my recent impulse to climb up a down escalator generously confirmed to me.  Dear reader, I don't know exactly why, but the opportunity to go up the down escalator after exiting the subway at a Metro stop without the usual hordes of people pressing in from all sides was just too good to pass up.  Starting was a titch difficult and the ascent easy enough, but the dismount from that escalator was quite clumsy.  I lunged, lurched, stumbled, and biffed it, though thankfully off the the ever-moving track.  It was painful and I for the next week or so the band-aid on my knee seemed like such a childish accessory, bringing with it a wave of self-consciousness every time someone mentioned it.  But the experience also very much helped me laugh.  

Allow me to share with you another stumble, this one in the realm of speech.  As I was talking with a friend about her recent trip to the Big Apple, "Yew Nork" slipped out of my mouth.  That slick spoonerism caught me off guard and gave me such delight.  Dear reader, as though to compensate for the embarrassment they could cause, stumbles are often accompanied by laughter.  Or tears.  Or both.  Which I think is just right. 

Here is my favorite kind of stumbling, the kind I feel is magical, when we can be surprised by how circumstances align and present themselves for us.  Months ago, as I was driving late at night one weekend, I stumbled upon this song by Chris Thile and Edgar Myer after feeling like I ought to turn on the radio.  The beauty of this impressed me deeply.  It was such a gift, unexpectedly given and joyfully received, and that experience reminds me of the healing power of music.

This is one last stumbled upon.  Its a poem by one of my favorite poets, which I feel speaks eloquently about the art of stumbling while adjusting to a load.  Here's to practicing, and embracing the stumbles as we carry our weight.  

"Heavy" | Mary Oliver

That time

I thought I could not

go any closer to grief

without dying

I went closer,

and I did not die.

Surely God

had His hands in this,

as well as friends.

Still, I was bent

and my laughter,

as the poet said, 

was nowhere to be found.

Then said my friend Daniel

(brave even among lions),

“It’s not the weight you carry

but how you carry it -

books, bricks, grief -

it’s all in the way

you embrace it, balance it, carry it

when you cannot and would not,

put it down.”

So I went practicing.

Have you noticed?

Have you heard

the laughter

that comes, now and again,

out of my startled mouth?

How I linger

to admire, admire, admire

the things of this world

that are kind, and maybe

also troubled -

roses in the wind,

the sea geese on the steep waves,

a love

to which there is no reply? 

Another One

This music.  Its astounding, expressing gentleness, sensitivity, and at the same time such resolute strength.  The whole trio is something to rejoice in, but this particular movement moves me every time.  I love it.

XXVI

I turned 26 years old today.  The skies poured out an abundance of gentle and constant rain, and watching it from the large windows of my office building brought a settled sense of acceptance.  I love how life giving rain is, the way it draws out the vibrancy of foliage, clears and cools the air, and refuses to be impeded by any sort of barrier, especially those that are manmade.  Today it fell softly, yet without any sort of hesitancy, falling from the sky with a marked sense of purpose to join into small rivers throughout the city.  Lightning burst a few times, brilliantly flashing, and reinforcing its boldness without reserve in resounding thunder.

And I feel this first day of a new age fits me right now.  Gray, dim, subdued, all over the place, wet, constant, with instances of astoundingly powerful intensity, potential, somewhat uncomfortable if you are ill prepared, unavoidable.  Its a good start.  This birthday has been extremely minimal--no candles, no confections, no wrapping paper, no balloons--and the starkness of it has given me a lot of clarity and helped me think.  My life is so different from what I envisioned.  Ever.  Who I am is so different than who I thought I would become.  It is beautiful, the depth of it all, and I'm not sure what will happen next, but rain is restorative.  And this stage of my life is too.  Somehow.

I'm with Gerard Manley Hopkins.  SEND MY ROOTS RAIN.  Let these roots, these delicate yet resilient united fibers thirsting for nourishment, receive rain.  Let them find what they need and send those sustaining elements up through the rest of me to reorganize themselves into branches, shoots, leaves, buds, blossoms.  But before all of that can happen, send my roots rain.

'Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend'

Justus quidem tu es, Domine, si disputem tecum; verumtamen 

justa loquar ad te: Quare via impiorum prosperatur? &c. 

Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend 

With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just. 

Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and why must 

Disappointment all I endeavour end? 

    Wert thou my enemy, O thou my friend, 

How wouldst thou worse, I wonder, than thou dost 

Defeat, thwart me? Oh, the sots and thralls of lust 

Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend, 

Sir, life upon thy cause. 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.