For Mother

I came home early
to do the dishes.

The soap
dried out my skin--

I felt I had aged thirty years
and became as wrinkled as you.

I remembered your feet--
I used to touch the calluses

and ask you why
they were so hard.

I was glad
you were asleep

resting
your bent back.

The water flowed
over the plates.

My hands wiped them dry
and stored them away

carefully, inside
the cupboard.

dark days after Easter

And they went out and fled from the tomb, for trembling and astonishment had seized them, and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

perhaps we like to think such darkness--trembling and astonishment--seized these women for only a moment.  but they were very afraid, and that's where the story ends, with no recovery (unless you count v.9-20).  today i want to dwell with them in their darkness.

so quickly we are to think that their fear was temporary and look to matthew's Gospel as if to assure ourselves that they did in fact go and tell the disciples and peter.  but that was not the point.  mark does not tell it that way.  Jesus had come, declared God's kingdom at hand, healed many, taught, rebuked and rejected falsehood; then strangely, He gave Himself up and died a terrible death.  and then, as His followers tried to move on as expected after such an outcome, they ran into something all the more strange:  some stranger in white clothing saying that He rose and is going ahead of them into galilee . . .

persistently, i am behind Him.  slow to understand, slow to see, like the blind man who begins to see blurry images of men that looked like 'trees walking.'  and there He goes again, far ahead, back to galilee where we began, somehow having traversed the valley of death.  and the story ends with such dreadful confusion--trembling and astonishment. 

in many ways this is how i am everyday.  each morning, waking into the darkened, curtained bedroom, covered by sheets, with the light from the window appearing as a curious enchantment rather than illumination.  surely the morning comes, but why?  how?  am i to live on, today, as if rested, renewed, from sleep?  it takes much time to wake up from my own dreams, and then eventually, the day ends, again, in the dark bedroom as i fall asleep. nevertheless, knowing that the events did indeed take place, i also know that there is only one place i must go:  to follow Him, wherever He leads.  

how odd, and beautiful, it is that light still shines in darkness--and that the darkness understands so little.

late february

on my way

home

at dusk--

purple clouds

above red

roof-tops

trees

bare branches

nipping at the sky

i was first 

to see Spring.

facebook envy, strange sayings of my mother, and other strange sayings

Recently, I've been thoughtful about the subject of my conversations (and things I post on facebook).

"So I hear you're going to Puerto Rico?"
"I love eating at Boogaloo . . ."

Much of it's small talk that casually breaks the ice.  But too often I find that conversation doesn't go further than this.  Moreover, at parties and other gatherings, I find myself instinctively drawn to the glamorous gravity of those with status and of the people who have much experience and expertise about these kinds of excursions.  And at the end of such vain-glorious encounters, I am envious of others' pleasures and proud of my own (just amused myself, vainly, in the string of 'e'-words).

"Be careful--as you move up in the world you will become more and more distant from ordinary people and from the poor," my mom says.  "But as a reed grows taller, it knows to stoop its head lower."

More and more I am getting used to black-tie affairs, to feeling entitled to nice vacations, and to being fluent amongst rich friends.  

But more than ever, I am unhappy.  

Despite the fact that I have more than ever in my life, I am less content--I'm envious of my classmates who matched into residency at more exciting locations than St. Louis (poor me), and I feel all the more disgusted by the morbidly obese people driving through McDonald's and even depressed by their prevalence in Missouri.  Even when I do the things that I know to be good--like looking for people at the party who have no one to talk to and then talking to them rather than the 'vain-glorious' people (that's a King James word, so nice)--though I may feel good about what I'm doing, even then I only get a glimpse of happiness.  

So I am unhappy, and I'm far from actually caring, actually wanting to be there amongst the poor, amongst the sickly, the uninteresting, the fat and ugly.  And envy colors my view of others and what I want from them.

It's come far for me to taste disappointment via so many shallow encounters and then to know much discontentment via continual envy-- to arrive where I feel shamed and small again, to discover again that I can be happy to have a meal, happy to have a home, and happy to have friends.

Then the strangest saying comes to mind:

Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.
Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you shall be satisfied.
Blessed are you who weep now, for you shall laugh.

This is more fact than promise.

YHWH is near to the brokenhearted 
and saves the crushed in spirit.

How strangely true this is.  It's not mere disillusionment and defeat that brings me back to such a humble place.  There is an inescapable reality that the fullest of joys is felt in response to the good that is common and even known to children.  And there is no happier place than a place where humility allows me to be grateful for whatever I have and be happy for other people for their joys and achievements.  Knowing this, or even those--or the One--who have gone before me with this joy, I want to remain small, to be poor, and then to give away, to suffer hunger and to mourn with those who are suffering already.  That is joy, life that is life indeed.

"We are small people," Jenn reminds me.  This is my happiest thought.



notes:

-on 'facebook envy', see:  cnet news article and cbs video

-the Hebrew expressions brokenhearted and crushed in spirit refer to the pride and stubbornness in one's heart being humbled.  see psalm 34:18

-'small people.'  see Deut 7:7