"Oh My Goodness!"

"Oh My Goodness!" - my brother, mom and I heard those words over and over again on an afternoon drive through Genesee County in the fall of 1992.  We had just picked up my great grandmother from her nursing home to take her to dinner at our house.  She could not stop exclaiming about the beauty surrounding us on the country roads that led to our house.  As a nine year old, I remember thinking, "This is what the leaves look like every year."  I am still not sure if she was just overwhelmed with the beauty of the changing leaves, or if her memory loss contributed to the wonder and awe she was experiencing.  Either way, that afternoon left an indelible mark on me.  The reds, oranges, and yellows that light up their trees like flames fluttering in the breeze stop me in my tracks every fall and remind me of that day driving through the hills in our blue minivan.

My great-grandmother, Jean McAllister Dillon, moved to the United States from Northern Ireland on her own as a young woman, and lived a full life that lasted 93 years.  That fall was the last time she experienced the stunning beauty of the leaves changing on the trees.  

This Thanksgiving I think we could all benefit from taking a moment to step back from the minutiae of our lives, and taking in everything we have been blessed with.  Take time to awe in wonder at your family, your friends, your surroundings, and even the beauty of nature.  Oh my goodness.  

Have you tried NOT having the flu?

The link below connects to a cartoon that was recently picked up by the Huffington Post about how people react to, and try to "help" those who have mental illnesses.  I have seen the cartoon several times in the last few months, and I think it is an invaluable illustration of how belittling general reactions to mental health problems are.  

What If People Treated Mental Illness Like Physical Illness?

I have experienced these reactions in regard to "invisible" illnesses, like migraines, as well.  I believe it relates back to never assuming you know what the person standing in front of you us going through.  As people of faith it is our responsibility to love, support and provide compassion to one another.  It is not our responsibility to judge.

Ability Privilege

I read this article today on the Everyday Feminism website:

Examples of Ability Privilege

It reminded me of how I felt when I was recuperating from hip replacement surgery in 2008.

When I broke my hip, the part of my identity that I took for granted the most was my status as an “able” person in society. While I had been limping for about a year without diagnosis, I had always considered myself strong and independent. While standing in my parents’ driveway, I slipped on the ice and broke my hip before even hitting the ground. In less than three seconds my whole world changed. While I didn’t know it at the time, those three seconds changed my status in society instantly. After thirty-one days as an inpatient in two different hospitals, and two surgeries (the second of which was a hip replacement), I was finally diagnosed with a Giant Cell Bone Tumor. They removed the tumor (which was the entire upper portion of my femur) and replaced the hip, but the tumor meant that unlike a normal hip replacement patient, I wouldn’t be able to bear weight on my leg for months. So I arrived home at my parents’ house grateful to be anywhere but a hospital, not ready for the fact that I was now just not a hospital patient, but something else: (temporarily) disabled.

Since I had already agreed to end my employment at First Presbyterian, Ithaca in July to start at the Warner School in the fall, and the surgeon told me that I wouldn’t be able to work until September, I no longer had a job. While I got temporary disability, and the church was generous financially, losing my identity as a “professional” mattered more to me at times than my absent salary. Our identities are so entwined with “what” we do, that I realized I had never defined my identity without a profession included in the description. For the first time in my life I had to learn how to define myself without using what I DID as the basis of it, because other than physical therapy, just getting through my day took up most of my time. For the four months I couldn’t walk.  I also couldn’t drive, use a non- handicapped restroom alone, or work. The situation was so depressing at times that I couldn’t fathom being permanently disabled. For the most part society does not support those who are disabled. It is embedded in our social and physical societal structures, from the powerful set of stairs at the front of most buildings that makes them look as imposing as they are to those who can’t walk, to the glares you get when riding a “mart-kart” through the grocery store. People didn’t look at me beyond my walker.  

Matthew 5:11-12
“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account.  Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you."

Thoughts on Suffering

After writings yesterdays post, I found this quote by Anne Lammot ~

A Guilty Blogger's Conscience

Do you ever keep yourself from doing something that you view as frivolous, or not necessary because you think that the other things on your "to-do" list are obviously more important?  While I've experienced this before, I have found it ever present in my desire to blog.  In the last week or so I have decided that I need to change the way I think about blogging.  

Yesterday I read the article, 10 Important Reasons to Start Making Time for Silence, Rest and Solitude on the Huffington Post.  While the benefits of rest, solitude and reflection that the article lists are hardly news-worthy, it was a good reminder that practices of self-reflection like journaling, blogging, mindfulness meditation and other methods of self-care are nothing to feel guilty for.  Obviously there will always be something "more important" to do (ie. more time sensitive) than take care of ourselves, but if we wait for all those more important things to be done to take care of ourselves we run the risk of damaging our bodies and souls.

So, here I am writing a blog post on a Monday evening!  Those who know me personally would tell you that I certainly have at least one (more likely; several) "to-do" lists floating around on my desk and dining room table that are littered with theological reading assignments, and Old Testament dates and Church History events to memorize.  One month from today fall semester classes will be over, and Reading Week (in preparation for final exams) will have begun.  There is no shortage of things to be done.  I have discovered though, that taking time to reflect here, knowing that my thoughts may eventually be read by those I care about, gives me energy.

Looking at these beautiful flowers gives me energy too!

Flower Credit: Ron Colantonio

Photo Credit: Angela Doll Photography

Last week's Old Testament classes on Thursday and Friday focused on the book of Jeremiah.  While the popular focus for Jeremiah tends to be on his call story, "For I know the plans I have for you..." (who doesn't love to hear that God has a plan for us?), we talked a lot about Jeremiah's lament in chapter 20.  If you haven't read it in a while, you can reacquaint yourself here.  

Among the prophets, Jeremiah is alone in his lament to God.  His lament is very similar in style to David's laments in the Psalms.  One distinct difference however, is that Jeremiah points to God as the source of his suffering, while David is generally referring to pain inflicted by earthly enemies.  The Psalms of lament were an enormous comfort to me after my bone tumor and hip replacement ordeal in 2008.  Previous to that experience I gravitated toward the "love and light" Bible passages that brought conventional messages of hope.  Only through my own physical pain and anger with God did I realize that David and Jeremiah provide a different kind of hope through their suffering.  Knowing that God is strong enough to handle our rebukes and anger is assurance that we can and are expected to share our pain with God.  

We are uncomfortable with suffering.  Suffering is raw, and often inconsolable.  Despite many internet memes and quotes to the contrary, quipping that "God will never bring you to what God can't bring you through" doesn't help (and I will admit to being guilty of saying this myself before experiencing true pain and suffering).  The most meaningful ministry you can offer in times of suffering and severe pain is presence without expectations.  To not be alone is a gift.  To be surrounded by love without the pressure of "improving" because of whatever yours guests might have to say to fix you is a gift.  Some of my best friends let me ramble, sob, laugh, and just sit with them during my illness.  While God and I made up in good time, my friends and family (and strangers) were beacons of Christ's love in a time of suffering.  

Sending all of you love, light, and permission to be mad at God (should you need it).