Before you know what kindness really is you must lose things, feel the future dissolve in a moment like salt in a weakened broth. What you held in your hand, what you counted and carefully saved, all this must go so you know how desolate the landscape can be between the regions of kindness. How you ride and ride thinking the bus will never stop, the passengers eating maize and chicken will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho lies dead by the side of the road. You must see how this could be you, how he too was someone who journeyed through the night with plans and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. You must wake up with sorrow. You must speak to it till your voice catches the thread of all sorrows and you see the size of the cloth. Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore, only kindness that ties your shoes and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread, only kindness that raises its head from the crowd of the world to say It is I you have been looking for, and then goes with you everywhere like a shadow or a friend.
“I wrote [this poem] down, but I honestly felt as if it were a female voice speaking in the air across a plaza in Popayán, Colombia. And my husband and I were on our honeymoon. We had just gotten married one week before, here in Texas, and we had this plan to travel in South America for three months. And at the end of our first week, we were robbed of everything. And someone else who was on the bus with us was killed. And he’s the Indian in the poem. And it was quite a shake-up of an experience.
“And what do you do now? We didn’t have passports. We didn’t have money. We didn’t have anything. What should we do first? Where do we go? Who do we talk to? And a man came up to us on the street and was simply kind and just looked at us; I guess could see our disarray in our faces and just asked us in Spanish, “What happened to you?” And we tried to tell him, and he listened to us, and he looked so sad. And he said, “I’m very sorry. I’m very, very sorry that happened,” in Spanish. And he went on, and then we went to this little plaza, and I sat down, and all I had was the notebook in my back pocket, and pencil. And my husband was going to hitchhike off to Cali, a larger city, to see about getting traveler’s checks reinstated.”
New Year’s is the traditional annual reboot from lives bogged down by unused, open tabs–plans to exercise, eat healthy, journal, clean out the garage, read a book. We keep glancing at them, annoyed and guilty, but won’t close them down as we sit down to watch The Queen’s Gambit with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. But the heaping plate of happy indulgences at Christmas make us wince at the memory of our good intentions. And as we stare into the bleakest part of the year, we plan again to wrangle by willpower and shame a new routine of supposed goodness. It won’t be fun, but with discipline and determination we can make this happen. And while that initial energy lasts, the sheer accomplishment feels nice, like maybe we’re not the useless lumps we feared.
Sadly, willpower, like jumper cables, is not a fuel to keep things running. It must be motivated by something else–usually fear or shame or a sense of obligation, all of which are miserable motivators. No wonder it doesn’t last. We truly live when ignited by joy, hope, fulfillment, passion, awe–in short, what is life-enhancing rather than life-draining, what we are drawn into rather than what we force on ourselves.
Yesterday I went hiking with my two dogs on nearby trails that are also open to motorcyclists. With my dogs out in front, coming suddenly on a dirt-biker is a fright. I thought the rainy weather would be in my favor, and I picked a trail that was opened only a week or two before, hoping others were unaware. As I entered, I could see only one bike track, a good omen, but within 20 feet of the entrance, four bikers came careening around the bend ahead. I quickly dragged my dogs into the heavy undergrowth as the engines swept passed. I was quite agitated as I hiked for a mile up the trail, muddy from churning tires, though we met no one else. As I turned around to head back, I realized the unfortunate timing of the encounter. Had I hiked those two miles and only run into the bikes at the end, I would have had a great hike and thought myself lucky. It suddenly occurred to me that my outlook was shaping my unhappy experience and I could turn my mind towards enjoying the beautiful trail instead. This came not from a place of obligation “I should be happy,” or of shame, “I shouldn’t be angry,” but simply from a desire to enjoy the hike, to lean into the good that was already there for the taking. I really enjoyed the rest of the hike. What good might you embrace in the New Year?
For months we have been preparing for the big celebration, putting regular life on pause, pumping up our happy expectations. We cranked up cheery music, hung lights and ornaments, filled our stockings and fridges, piled presents under the tree. And now it’s over. Regular life comes flooding back with its anxieties and stresses, dullness and duties, and the only thing left to do is box up all our happiness for the long winter trudge. Some of us hold onto the decorations a little longer, maybe till New Year’s, clinging to the feelings that are quickly slipping away. Ordinary life feels so bereft in comparison, cold and heartless.
When I was a kid, the after-Christmas-slump was eased by the school holiday. As an adult, the after-party is a hangover of postponed tasks to catch up on. I want some fun to anticipate as an antidote for the disappointment of everyday life. But as I make the transition to reality, I sense the hollowness of my over-hyped Christmas. We tried to make it meaningful and rich with various spiritual practices, but for me, the oversold glitz from past decades sucked me in at last… or maybe sucked out the core of good we tried to foster, leaving it an empty make-believe.
Thankfully that good is not too far away for me to pull back in to reorient myself on solid ground, the rich goodness that lies in the gritty reality of a broken world. I feel myself stabilizing and getting my bearings. Life is rich in ways fantasy never is. It has weight and substance, meaning and direction, and a hope that does not disappoint because it is a grounded hope, not a Disneyland hope. Sobriety is so underrated!
Today marks the winter solstice when darkness reaches its full power, chasing daylight into retreat. This looming darkness and cold is SAD for many (an apt acronym for Seasonal Affective Disorder), especially after the holiday season blinks out, especially in the dreary Northwest, overcast from September to May. In the past I put my head down and trudged through the darkness, holding my breath until spring buds. I have seen winter darkness as a killjoy, sucking the life out of all the earth. Last week Kimberly told me hope highlights the misery of the present. We hope for the good that we now lack. I have often used hope to give me stamina in the dark, as though the goal is simply to hang on until something better comes. But what if the dark is full of its own unique blessing, like dark chocolate, then I miss it by wishing it gone and pushing it away.
Please don’t equate my new perspective with the toxic forced happiness which tries to shout down misery. That is just another way of rejecting the darkness rather than receiving it. Telling myself “this isn’t so bad” or “others have it worse” or “be grateful for what you do have” is just another way to stifle and reject the blessing of winter. Sadly I have been blind to the goodness that darkness brings. Darkness is a safe womb, a quiet rest after tough days, a calming from excess stimulation, an invitation to turn inward. Darkness is an invitation to self-care and inner growth.
I was raised to believe work was the good, so rest curtailed the good–it was necessary, like pooping, but just as useless. Resting was unproductive and usually a sign of self-indulgence or weakness that should be overcome as much as possible. It was cousin to laziness. But what if rest, like the space between musical notes, was an equal partner in creating good? What if rest was just as blessed? “Then God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it, because in it He rested from all His work.” The one day that was blessed and sanctified was the rest day!
Darkness was part of creation itself, part of what God called “very good,” and not only because it invited rejuvenating rest. I think of the many ways I might welcome the blessing of the cold, dark, wet, drab months ahead, possibilities start churning. I want to partner with the winter, not fight it. Instead of trying to create color out of greyish hues, I want to find the unique beauty in black-and-white. Instead of just sheltering against the cold, I want to lean into the delights of coziness–hot drinks, fuzzy pajamas and cuddling up are so pleasurable in winter. I want my indoor life in winter to be as rich as my outdoor life in summer and to enjoy the outdoors in ways that embrace the season. If you don’t have a ball you can’t play soccer, but you could play tag… or invent a new game entirely. In fact the absence of a ball stimulates greater creativity! Winter is not a season of deprivation, but of new possibilities.
Kimberly and I sat chatting this morning about Mary, the mother of Jesus. I said, “Imagine God coming to you and saying, ‘I want you to raise my son.'” It’s intimidating enough to be an adequate mother who doesn’t mess up a child: just the right balance of affection and discipline, limits and freedom, patience and prodding, while adjusting to each child’s uniqueness. Now imagine the Savior of the world is plopped in your lap as an infant and you are responsible to nurture, discipline, and give spiritual guidance to God’s child. It’s not just your kid you’re worried about, but the whole world is depending on you… and so is God! Talk about impossible expectations!
I know what it’s like to feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, to feel that I have to make all the right decisions and give every ounce of my energy and attention. I know the fear of failing God and screwing up his plans. And even though I once thought I was responsible to save hundreds of thousands of people by my efforts, I’ve found that trying to simply get my own life straightened out is just as big an emotional burden, just as sure to scare me with potential failure and the shame that will flood in.
But what if Mary didn’t take on all that responsibility? What if instead of being responsible for God, she believed that God was responsible for her. Suppose instead of saying, “Yes, I will do it. I will perform this God-sized task,” Mary said to the angel, “I’m the Lord’s servant; let it be done to me according to your word.” From the very beginning God was announcing what he would do for Mary rather than what Mary must do for God. All the responsibility was on God’s shoulders and Mary was simply a recipient by grace. Which is exactly what the angel told Mary–calling her not “highly favored” but “highly graced” (the Greek word is rooted in charis, which is “grace”). It was not like a talented sports team that is “highly favored” to win, as though God were impressed with Mary (the harmful idea behind the “immaculate conception” of a sinless Mary). Rather Mary was one on whom great grace was poured, and grace by definition is undeserved. God said in essence, “I am catching you up in this awesome plan I am carrying out. Come watch me do this amazing thing… and I’m using you!”
What if that is true for me too? What if I am greatly graced? What if God is inviting me into watching him do for me and through me all the good that he has planned? It seems too good to be true, to let down that burden of responsibility and just “be” with God, to receive goodness rather than construct goodness, to be God’s showpiece of grace, God’s artwork of beauty and redemption. Joy to the world!
I can’t seem to catch my breath for all the running. We made a crazy sudden decision in August 2017 to move across country in one month so I could start school. I drove my truck from the Atlantic to the Pacific, then slept in it for two months as I started working part time and studying fulltime for a Master’s in counseling.
Mid-semester I flew back and drove Kimberly and all our belongings 15 hours a day as I banged out a research paper in the hotel rooms each night. The sprint did not slow as I pushed to get through my studies as quickly as possible and begin my internship, 3000 hours of counseling to earn my license so that I could get a real job before our savings were all gone. When our rent went up dramatically, we realized we needed to buy a house, a very involved process for someone with 4 income streams as I was working at Home Depot part time, working for two counseling organizations, and running my own counseling business. We could only afford a fixer-upper in this market, so immediately after buying the house this spring, all my free time has been consumed with fixer-upping.
I keep waiting for things to settle down so that I can get back to a normal routine, including blogging, but I have realized in the last couple of weeks that things may never slow down. Perhaps this is my final dash to the end of life and I must simply make time now for things I value. I hope to be more present here going forward.
The white-capped, jagged peaks Catch the clouds and collect them, Draping them like scarves across their shoulders. The sun dances between floating puffs, Painting the canvas below with light and shadow.
It shocks my heart with joy each time, This ten thousand year old sculpture, Always new, never changing, This staging ground of life and death Against which every disaster obliterates itself. As the world remains whole.
This unshakeable frame of history Breathes into me its strength, I will fail often and fail at last, But in our failing, the world endures, Folding us into its story,
Its beauty and goodness echoes in my soul, The glory within resonating to the glory without, My joyful agreement, invitation, oneness With all that is good in the universe. I am an indispensable character in the eternal drama.
It has been a year since I last posted. My journey in the Pacific Northwest has been one of the most stressful of my life. Just to maintain a healthy connection to myself has been a struggle that I have often lost. On the one hand, I have had fairly long stretches of not feeling depressed, something I have not experienced for some years. On the other hand these times felt very tenuous. It did not give me the energy I needed to do any more than simply rest, and in the place of depression I have experienced much more anxiety than I have in the past… probably not new, just unrecognized until now as I become more attuned to its presence and role in my life.
Just realizing it is difficult enough without adding the next step of trying to resolve it in a healthy way. My anxieties circle tightly around the fear of coming short in fulfilling all the objectives in life that seem so pressing, so numerous, so overwhelming. In the past I tried to allay my fears by doubling down on my output, but more tasks always crowded into the space opened up by scratching off completed tasks. They were neverending. Doing more is a trap for me, not a resolution. I am not a machine whose worth is measured by what I accomplish. The only remedy is grace, learning to accept myself quite apart from my productivity. A deeply set pattern of 60 years is not easily broken. I share it here to encourage me further into this honest struggle.
Yesterday I texted Kimberly, “almost a perfect hike. 45 minutes of good cardio in the sun, a stroll along a beautiful mountain view, adventure on a new trail, and then overcast to be a perfect ambience for meditation.” Then I texted her this picture.
We get gorgeous views when it’s not cloudy, a rarity in the Pacific Northwest winters. And when the sunshine falls on my day off, even for a couple of hours, I consider myself lucky. I said it was an “almost” perfect hike because instead of being simply overcast, it rained the last 30 minutes down the mountain, which made me hurry to finish rather than calmly meditate. I finished texting Kimberly, “Near the end I laughed, thinking, Yeah God always has to add that little dose of ‘reality.’ Life never seems to come neatly gift-wrapped with a bow, but always manages to throw us off-kilter as though it fears we will settle down too easily into comfortable stagnation. There’s always something that doesn’t quite fit in the box, that leaves a sense of dis-ease challenging our neat organization of the world. Sometimes we flounder desperately trying to make sense of it all. Living genuinely is scary and confusing and painful, but it leaves us open to new directions we may never have considered. It’s a very messy affair wobbling courageously down a trail with no clear markings. Faith is given not so much to make us stalwart in our certainty, but to make us stalwart through our uncertainty.
I start out with the idea “I could do better” (in this case about counseling). I think of what possibly went wrong, and how I could “fix” it in the future. “I could do better” becomes “I must do better,” turning hope and potential into standards and judgments. The way to fix my sense of failure and self-criticism is to be sure I don’t repeat the mistakes I supposedly made and so escape future shame—forgiveness earned through perfection. This is a never-ending gerbil wheel.
Even though I might approach the issue as mere problem-solving and try to avoid self-criticism, the judgment hangs around the edges just waiting to pounce and drag me down. And the longer I dwell on ways to improve, the heavier it weighs on me. Driven by fear of repeating my failures, I come up with some good corrective plans and wish I had used those in what has already transpired. And then “I could do better” becomes “I should have done better.” After all, with just more reflection I figured out a better approach. Couldn’t I have done this before if I had just been more observant or reflective, more thorough and careful?
Of course, this self-judgment cripples me, gives me less freedom and flexibility, makes me defensive and self-protective, makes me fearful and insecure, and in the end I am less present, open, and vulnerable, more tired and distracted because the good is overwhelmed by my attacks on myself. My very desire to flourish becomes the knife that severs my flourishing.
Janathan Grace Reflections 