Clutter

"Clutter" is a great word, descending linguistically from clotter -- "to form clots, to heap on." Go further back in history and it comes from the German Klotz, from which we get klutz.

Doesn't that just make sense?  Clutter in the surroundings is like lumps that form in awkward, perhaps even dangerous, places, creating blockages that interfere with movement.  It becomes harder to move forward, harder to be flexible.

And it's not just about physical space.  Something similar happens in the mind and in the soul.  Without regular sorting of thoughts, events, and so forth, figurative masses form that get in the way.  It becomes more difficult to think clearly, to be fully present, to experience life fully.

Tomorrow is Sunday.  We'll go to church, spend time with people we love, take naps, read.  Along the way, we'll find our souls restored.  Sabbath is a gift, a day of blessed de-cluttering, and I am grateful.

Resistance

We had a sudden and rather spectacular windstorm the other day.  The wind picked up, the roof began to creak loudly, and I went to the sliding glass door to see if there were any cows flying by.  Nope, no cows.  Just moments later, the wind settled down to a reasonable level and I headed back to the task I'd been engaged in.  That's about the time a handful of boys from our neighborhood showed up on our doorstep.  "Your fence fell over!"

Sure enough -- a 4x4 post snapped and we had a sixteen-foot-wide opening between our back lawn and the rest of the neighborhood.  Sixteen feet!  Drat.

Sirius is our aging Labrador retriever, and he's a pretty good dog, but he's not that good.  It was apparent that where I saw a gaping hole, he saw The Gateway to Big Adventure.  He wanted to go outside, often.  And I went with him, every time.  He would casually stroll toward the hole in the fence, I would bring him back, we would go inside, he would beg to go back out, and we would repeat the whole thing.  I got tired of that routine pretty quickly.

So... once I realized it will take a little while to get the fence rebuilt, I bought a tie-down cable.  We've been getting some beautiful weather, after all, so I wanted to give him more freedom to enjoy the outdoors, and to give me more freedom to not watch him every moment of it.  It's a long cable, giving the dog twenty feet in each direction.  I clipped him to it and sent him outside.  I was happy.  Sirius was happy.  Everyone was happy.

But not for long.  As Sirius started meandering onto the lawn, his rear foot landed on the cable so that when he leaned into the next step, it tugged on his collar.  He stopped, looking back toward me with his big brown eyes, seeming to wonder why I'd so unfairly limited his freedom.

I hadn't, of course.  The only thing holding the dog back at that point was the dog stepping on his own leash.  Accustomed to the limits of the leash, he assumed that any resistance he met came from me.

Made me think of how we respond as people sometimes -- making false steps and assuming the resulting resistance comes from another source, mistaking self-imposed limits for insurmountable rules, shortening our reach unnecessarily, staying too close to "home" because of little tugs backwards.

It is good to live within appropriate limits.  It's sad, though, to live within false ones of our own foolish construction.

Mowing the Lawn

I like mowing the lawn. There are days when I'd rather be doing something else, of course, but I can usually appreciate lawn time.  I like being outside, being active. I like the smell of fresh-cut grass. Most of all, I like the sense of order in a world that sometimes feels chaotic.

It's just the lawn, and all I'm really doing is making the grass shorter.  Even so, I like mowing the lawn.

Being Heard

" Being heard is so close to being loved that,

for the average person,

 they are nearly indistinguishable. "
-- David Augsburger

Sometimes I have worthwhile perspectives and am able to communicate them effectively.  Other times I flounder in ways that make even well-developed thoughts inaccessible to others.  I am grateful for those who listen well, seeking understanding before concluding and certainly before responding.

I've been thinking for months about Augsburger's statement about being heard, and it still has weight.  To listen well is an act of grace.  It communicates that there is room for error, that one's value is inherent in his or her personhood and exists separate from merit.

I am immensely grateful for people in my life who listen well.

I am blessed.

Citizens

My friend Chris was one of 193 people to take the oath of citizenship yesterday in Salt Lake City.  I was honored to be invited and pleased to attend.  The United States has become Chris's home.  She has put down roots here, become established in home and relationships, given of her time and energy to help others.  The "American" name fits, and I trust she will represent it well.

Naturalization ceremonies are scheduled monthly.  I have attended (I think) five of them over the past eight-ish years.  In many ways, it is pretty much the same every time -- location, schedule, sequence of events, and so forth.  It would be easy, I suppose, to see it as simply routine proceedings, and so I am particularly appreciative of the presiding judge.  Each time, he has communicated great respect for the process and for the people involved.  His demeanor and words remind us that each one of the 193 people is unique, with a unique and worthwhile story.  He honors their histories and their countries of origin.

 

The judge has a story of his own, too.  He has shared pieces of it -- enough to connect his story to the others, always stopping well short of allowing his own story to take center stage.  I am glad that he focuses on others.  At the same time, I would love to just sit with him awhile and hear his story, too.

Throughout the ceremony, and even before it begins, there is a consistent theme of gratitude for those who have served in the military.  Honor is given, recognizing the significance of their sacrifices for our country.  As I sat and listened to words like "armed forces" and "military" and "those who served," I recognized and honored them collectively.  More than that, though, I thought of individuals -- people like Eric, Perry, Mr. B, Mark, Gene, Dan, Ernie, Bruce, Wil, Ryan, Grandpa J, Jeff, Scott, and many others.  I thought of their stories, their families, their commitment.  We are blessed to have such people among us.

I am grateful.

Healing in Hospitality

It was about four years ago.  One weekend when Ryan was home just briefly from school, his parents invited a small crowd to their house on a Sunday afternoon to eat and play games.  I was looking forward to seeing him again, being with friends, and all of us enjoying the time together.

First, though, I stopped in to visit an elderly friend and one thing led to another -- calling paramedics, going to the hospital, waiting with family, talking and praying.  I called my husband to let him know I would be late for lunch.  Awhile later, I called again to apologize for being exceedingly late.  Then, when it seemed the situation was becoming adequately stable, someone I hadn't seen in years was brought in by ambulance, with family following close behind.

I called again, expressing regret that I would be too late to even show up.  Before he could respond, though, I heard Tahmina's voice in the background kindly commanding me to come, even if just for a short while before returning to the hospital.

And so, eventually, I did.  The roads were truly awful, and it seemed like forever before I showed up at their doorstep, five hours late and feeling like a worn down little beggar child.

There was still a good crowd at the house when I arrived, spread around talking and playing games, filling the home with happy noise.  Mark gave me a hug.  Tahmina called my name from the kitchen.  "Your dinner's just about ready!"  They'd had a pasta bar, and she had been cooking up a fresh plate for me as I drove.  Grantley sat with me and we talked as I ate.  I paused quietly for awhile to decompress.  Those playing games made space for me in their circles.  I couldn't stay long, but when I returned to check in on my elderly friend at the hospital late that night, I felt like I'd been made whole again.

I will be forever grateful for the kind hospitality of good friends, especially on that cold, snowy day four years ago.

"Love must be sincere.  Hate what is evil; cling to what is good.  Be devoted to one another in brotherly love.  Honor one another above yourselves.  Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.  Share with God's people who are in need.  Practice hospitality."  (Romans 12:9-13)

Umbrella Space

I was walking across campus on a dim and murky-feeling morning.  A chilly rain drizzled from the sky.  I scowled as I left the building, harumphing to myself about the darkness, the rain, the cold. Really, though, it wasn't about the weather.  My soul was worn down, I felt overwhelmed by things going on within and around me, and the dreariness outside simply reflected my insides.  It was like seeing the world through cloud-colored glasses.

"Debi?"  I turned and saw a friend a short distance behind me.  "I have an umbrella."

We walked together to the next building, talking briefly along the way.  I've been in far worse rain, but have never been so grateful for an umbrella.  It was a gentle reminder that I was not alone -- or at least did not have to be.  "I have an umbrella" -- these were hospitable and healing words on that day.

Normal Crises

From a recent investment Q&A:
Q.  How will investors know that the financial crisis is finally over?
A.  It would be a mistake for investors to think of the crisis as a discrete event that at one point will end and return financial conditions back to "normal...."

The question itself hints, I think, at a cultural expectation of ease.  And it's not just in financial matters, but in life as a whole.  We tend to define "normal" as good health, job security, housing comfort, consistently agreeable colleagues, and so forth.  Without all of these, there is a sense of waiting and/or working toward that "normal" state of affairs.

And optimism is good.  Hope is wonderful.  Intentionally working toward a better situation is healthy and generally effective.  But to have all parts of life in a no-stress zone all the time?  Best I can tell, that isn't "normal," and false expectations don't help.

Like in the financial Q&A above, the answer includes developing a broader perspective, one that recognizes ebb and flow within the complex interactions of life.  Crises will come -- that is "normal."  The question remaining is how we choose to respond.

I recently read an article by John Ortberg titled "Don't Waste a Crisis."  He cites a survey which revealed that the number one contributor to spiritual growth was not learning scripture or practicing positive emotions or attending church or serving others.  Rather, it suggested that the most significant opportunities for growth come from suffering.  There will probably always be debate about whether God causes suffering or simply allows it, but no matter where comes of that, I can stand firmly in the belief that God redeems suffering.

I want to celebrate and savor times of abundant well-being, without grasping them too tightly.  And I intend also to faith-fully, hope-fully, love-ingly endure difficult times, knowing those, too, will come to an end, and that in the meantime, God will bring about something good.