Janathan Grace Reflections   This is my journey of self discovery shared with you

I’m wanting to reach out, share, connect with you tonight, but I have nothing in particular to say.  I have stacks of thoughts… quite literally, but none of them inspire me tonight.  I feel quiet, ready, in tune, but no thoughts come.  Perhaps it is your turn to share with me.  Is anything on your heart–any grief or challenge, any joy or hope, any insight or doubt?  I welcome with open heart your thoughts.

Sometimes I scribble thoughts as I walk my dogs, juggling pen and paper with two retractable leashes in hand, jerked around by the dogs straining for the next bush.  The writing is barely decipherable, and when I get home the little scraps of paper drift around from pocket to desk to bag… or laundry… or trashcan where the burning insight is lost.  I’m looking at my pile of scraps now: dentist appointment, a grocery list, a receipt and rebate form, a sticky note with two items scratched through and the third reading, “fix dome light.”  My whole life is like that, bits and pieces shuffled around and often dropped or misplaced in spite of my best intentions.  I try to keep the most important or urgent things on top of the stack. I lost our backup hard-drive somewhere and having looked everywhere more than once, have presumed it’s gone, along with my electric razor that I haven’t seen in two weeks.  I used to be so disciplined, had my life planned out on a grid, kept my ducks marching in step.  My life was organized, but my heart was crushed.  I’d rather be a mess than a machine.  Perhaps one day I will get back enough energy to set my life a little more in step and find enough rhythm to give direction to my confused soul, but for now I just want to learn to be at peace with my own shortcomings, learn the unforced rhythms of grace.

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

                                                                                                           –Jesus (Matthew 11:28-30 from The Message)

Years ago I had a blog on Xanga. I forgot. I just stumbled on it again by accident and decided to import all those posts here, and they simply merged together by post date so I can’t tell which is which, but I may have switched to this blog sometime in 2009.  I don’t know what alerts (if any) have gone to subscribers, so I thought I would explain here.

update: Oh it looks like June 20, 2011 is when I switched over.  I guess there are a lot more posts from Xanga than I realized.

I just turned 54, “just” as in 40 minutes ago.  It is an inconsequential number, unlike 13 or 18 or 65.  It marks no life transitions or significant mileposts. If I’m asked my age two weeks from now, I’ll have to stop and think, maybe have to add up the decades–who remembers 54?  And yet it is these unremarkable years that slowly add up to make me who I am.  A stone is just a stone… until it is carved and shaped into a beautiful statue.  For each of us, God has a glorious end.  Don’t judge the artwork based on a single stroke of the chisel.

For those interested, I have added a page titled Grace Books with a list of the best books on the topic for those who would benefit from further reading (or to pass along to friends).

Humans of New York is a wonderful website produced by Brandon, a photographer who is brilliant at drawing out the personal journeys of his random subjects in the city, recording their answers to his sensitive questions.  I am linked to his page through Facebook and receive a post or two each day.  They are very touching and heart-warming and the encouraging comments from others are worth reading as well.  Here is today’s post:

“Are you lonely?”
“It’s been a lifetime of loneliness. I decided early on that I better get used to it. I go to movies by myself. If the movie theater is completely empty, I’m even happier. I learned early on that if I wanted to go to restaurants, I better learn to go by myself. One benefit to being big is that people don’t bother you. I’m shocked that you came up to me. Nobody’s ever done that. When I started to go to therapy, it took me several sessions before I even spoke a word. I’d just sit there and cry. And honestly, you caught me on a tough day. I was sitting here feeling really bad about myself. Because I went to the doctor today, and I was sure that I’d lost weight. But I’d gained some.”

I’m sitting here listening to instrumental hymns on Pandora.  It transports me back to a childhood full of the good feelings of an uncomplicated world, truth distilled into a plain, straightforward way of life agreed on by everyone, at least everyone who was right.  All of us knew what was good and bad–and who was good and bad.  There was no confusion or doubt, no questions or tangles to sort out, but as simple as The Waltons or The Sugar Creek Gang, a Christian book series about boys who always did the right thing (or paid dearly for failing).

Spiritual progress was like apprenticing to a trade.  The models were showcased, especially parents, so we all knew what the finished product should look like, and the tools were laid out (Bible reading, prayer, church) so we knew how to get there.  It was simply a matter of perfecting the skills, getting better and better at using these methods and plans to reach that end. The answers were all given, we just had to memorize them and put them to practice like a multiplication table.

As children we were shielded from any real danger, but as we grew older we were trained in beating back the onslaught of the world.  We were supplied with all the reasons why those who disagreed with us were wrong, and we were constantly warned not to listen to liberal and secular views, except as a means to spot the weaknesses to refute.  We were on the side of God.  What else mattered?  As long as we stayed in the circle of safety it felt secure, we belonged, and nothing ahead could bring us down.

That contentment of security and simplicity warms my heart to recall and re-feel.  Except it’s like the nostalgia I feel from watching The Waltons–I never lived in a wood-frame house outside a small town with dirt roads and plain, country neighbors, so that sense of loss is for a past I never had.  I do have genuine and positive childhood memories, but they have been sanitized, split off from the fear and guilt and shame I lived with for failing to meet family standards.  The questions and confusion and inner turmoil I faced as an adult did not come from the incursions of a secular perspective, but from the inherent dissonance in my heart of the worldview in which I was raised.

There was much good in my childhood home and much good in my parents, but their prefab worldview did not work for me.  I tried hard to make it fit, like the lad David trying on Saul’s armor, but it hurt and hobbled instead of helping me.  In some sense I think this is everyone’s story because we all differ in some profound ways from our parents, and so we must find the path that works best for ourselves.  For some of us, blazing a new trail is so scary and hard that we start our own journey much too late in life.  I struggled through my adolescent independence at forty.

Perhaps our longing for a past we lost but never really had is homesickness for a past we really did have, but older than memory, a past where we walked hand-in-hand with God in an unspoiled world.  Perhaps that yearning was planted in us as a whispered promise to pull us on till we see the face of God once again.  So let me remember the good ol’ days with fondness and stoke the hope that helps me lift each tired leg on this long journey home.

I came to work early today so the daytime librarians could scoot home ahead of the snow that is now piling up on my car.  Having lived in Asheville, NC for 4 years and Chicago for 6, I know how to get around well enough in the snow–it’s ice that’s the real menace.  That and southern drivers.  But by the time I leave late tonight there won’t be much else on the road.  This town closes down by 10 p.m., even on weekends.  If you want a midnight snack, you have to settle for Sheetz gas station.

All the students seem to be taking the night off, building snowmen or huddled in their rooms I guess, since nobody’s here.  The snow outside is beautiful, clumping onto bushes and drifting against the porch’s classic pillars, turning everything white and pure.  I love snow, the single pleasure of winter weather, and we’re expecting more than a foot.  Our dog Mazie will have great fun bouncing through it tomorrow.

Today it was overcast with a high of 20F (that “F” would stand for Fahrenheit, though other words come aptly to mind).  I decided to take a nap instead of a walk in the afternoon.  My soul approved.  Naps are highly underrated.  Go take one right now and tell me it doesn’t improve your life’s outlook!  (Or if you read this at night–go to bed early. same thing.)