Midnight Musing About Parenting Realities

A little midnight musing. A sleepy but can’t sleep prose about parenting realities so nebulous:

Hebrews 2:14. God’s awareness of our inner hearts; God’s compassion in connection and succor.

So, I’ve been having overwhelming nesting instincts lately, and I’m pondering what this means. Really? I’ve been a mother for almost 17 years! How can this be? Apace with these feelings, I dreamt of a giant, complex tree growing in the middle of what appears as my distinctive, whimsical house. My family is there, but I can’t see them; only sense them and their emotions. A branch of the tree breaks and falls, and goes against all logical sense by leaving the house unscathed. Impossible, I think. 
 
Since we are only ourselves the best interpreters of our dreams, and because I believe our dreams are always some kind of manifestation of ourselves (objects and people), wherein lies divine revelation (but only if we are honest), I am finding a place of much to contemplate and to be curious about with this dream. It just might be connected to this nesting instinct I am having in my stages of being awake these days, but nesting instincts aren’t supposed to occur unless you’re pregnant, or at least that’s what I thought (and by the way, no, I’m not). 
 
On a macro-level, I think it has to do with my sensitivity to the world’s own birthing of newness. The earth and all who are in it is transitioning, laboring to bring forth new eras of human development. The pangs of this global birth are really screaming and pushing right now. And there is much resistance. As an empath, at times it just doesn’t seem possible to imagine new life beyond so much of the current planetary and anthropological angst we face. I wonder if others, even those who haven’t given birth, but have motherly instincts, or creative urgings, or deep sensitivities, male or female, all along the spectrum, feel this way. I believe even the children of today hold a more distinct wisdom and intensity necessary to be in and to survive, to be hope-bearers, and light shiners specific to this moment of the ever evolving life as we know it. Souls coming into this world are capable of a more intensely grand awareness, but more painfully struggling, perhaps because they need to be.
 
On a personal level, these nesting feelings are partly due to the fact that my youngest fledgling will be a teenager in T minus 84 days, and I’m excited, but I can’t stand it. I’ll be a Mama of two teens! How super fun, and terrifying! (The sacred paradox reveals itself again, as it tends to repeatedly and uniquely manifest.) I know the empty nest will come, but as I live in the present moment, my body seems to want to cope by recalling the days I carried my babes in utero, and suddenly I want to remodel this, and organize that. I’ve even felt like selling the house and finding a new one to freshly personalize. Thankfully, we will be doing the traditional teenager bedroom makeover for Nathan on his 13th, so I can focus these maternal energies, creativities and newness desires there. Sometimes, when I feel this instinct strongly, I will place one hand between my breasts, and another over my uterus, and meditate on the gentle, and utmost power it is to be a Mother. Truly we can all do this, whether we have given birth or not, whether we are anatomically able to birth or not. The Feminine Wisdom is something we can all learn from, because it is part of all of us, like ribbons and twigs in the Nest.
 
Macro and micro, it’s a reminder, too, of the imperative need for all humans to find ways to nurture and be nurtured, to be held, to be fetal, to be vulnerable, to hold and sacredly carry, and be carried by, something we are both part of and independent of. As I hold this unexpected feeling in my early 40’s, something I thought I wouldn’t experience again, I am curious about what I might carry, deeply- a sort of belly/gut carrying that I can nurture and prepare for in this phase of my life. What can I patiently create with this instinctual nesting message in my heart? It’s one way I can cope with the residual gusts of my two fledgling’s wings freshly flapping in eager anticipation. It’s all I can do to embrace every moment of when those wings still choose a nest-resting-need to be near, in the sacred intermittence of treasured mother-child contact (for at least 2 and 6 more years, respectively, but likely forever…at least at some level). Oh, how those moments linger and weave into my mama-heart-memory. All the while, I continue weaving strings and ribbons. We all do, or at least we all should.
 
Poet and philosopher, Mark Nepo once wrote, “Time and again, I am humbled- broken and opened all at once- by the mysterious fact that life is all things at all times. For every death there is somewhere a birth. For every clarity there is somewhere a confusion. For every pain there is somewhere a joy. And being simple human beings, we can’t possibly comprehend or hold it all. But briefly, when still, we can feel it. Like a shell being hallowed by the sea, we are slowly cleansed. Hard as this is, it is worth everything.” 
 
Sigh…mama-hood, and all of its glorious misery, its wonder-agony, its love-pain indelible defining…its symbolism within and beyond myself and the 12 & 16 year old teacher-heart, humans I once pushed into the world. Gather the twigs and weave the ribbons. Nests in progress, nests as only pieces waiting to be brought together, nests abandoned, but holding memory, nests fallen and breaking down into the earth once again, nests that held disappointment and joy, death and life, nests being borrowed, nests waiting to surround something new. How remarkable that every phase of parenting and childhood, or just by being, in any phase of life, is a fullness in and of itself right in the moment. Fully capable, and yet fully becoming. How remarkable. 

In the spirit of parent-child reciprocity, the shared wisdom, a song to conclude:
 

Family Night Trampoline Time

A 10 Minute (or 11, 12 Minute) Reflection on the Community of Family
Shared with Calvary Baptist Church of Denver, Vision 20/20
Rev. Brenda J. Goodman, Mom, Chaplain, and More…

May 16, 2016

A few years ago, our family collaborated to make space for one night a week where we come together to intentionally spend time in some sort of spiritual practice, whether it be a devotional,Bible reading, or poetry reading, an activity with art or music, and a time of sharing. Nathan came up with the idea to meet on the trampoline, and so we gather there for some jump time, too. Some nights all we do is jump- jump away the days’ anger, frustrations, or jump in celebration, or we lie on our backs, gazing at clouds while sharing, or we move into some other activity for the night. Winter nights, we don’t get to meet on the trampoline, but it’s still Family Night Trampoline Time; it’s just what we call it now. Even if the trampoline time begins with rolled eyes, or sighs, it always ends with connection, and profound insights, shifted moods. Some weeks, we skip it. And that’s okay…the community of family needs grace. Here’s snippet of what a typical, plenteous day might look like in my family:

It’s about 6:15am, and I awaken to the sound of heavy, black, punk boots walking down our wood stairs. This is usually my first “alarm clock” of the morning. Thankfully, I don’t hear my 16 year old daughter’s actual alarm go off which happens at 5:30am- way too early for a teenager by the way, but the battle of trying to convince a school district to change start times for high school is another story…Taylor is up, tromping down the stairs to grab a piece of fruit (hopefully) and then to catch the 6:20 bus to school. My alarm is set for 7…sigh…my eyes begin to slowly close, and I drift into a snooze…

At 6:30am, my 12 year old’s alarm goes off, and because he doesn’t turn his alarm off, my eye’s lift open again to the sound of jazz from Denver’s radio station KUVO, 89.3 FM: Nathan’s preferred sound to wake up to. I smile, turn over in my bed (and wonder why I even bother setting my own alarm). As the piano riff from the radio blends with morning bird chirps, I turn over on my side, and because his side of the bed is still made, I am reminded that my husband will soon be on his way home from work, having worked all night as a deputy sheriff. Then I recall one of the other ministries I do (second to the ministry of motherhood), and I think of the other family I sat and prayed with at 11pm last night at the hospital where I work, in the sacred space of chaplaincy, as a witness and companion to their grief and deep love for the one they unexpectedly lost. I wonder what their 10 minute snippet of sharing about family might look like. And I realize that so many family stories are being holy-woven into time. As I rise to dress and slip on my running shoes, I realize I only had about 4 hours of sleep last night. I wish I could rewind back to 8:45pm, when I was singing Blackbird by the Beatles as my son rested his head on his pillow, and my daughter flipped through her studies. Thankfully getting only 4 hours of sleep doesn’t happen every night. But even when I’m not on call for work, 9pm to midnight or so, is a kids-are-finally-in-bed, night owl, introvert’s dream!

As the morning moves on, and after grabbing a banana, watching my son pound down a bowl of cereal with the spoon going from mouth to bowl in a circular blur, I hear a soft half-bark from our docile fur baby, Daisy the greyhound, gently reminding us that we neglected to let her back in when we let her out to do her business 20 minutes ago. I place the harness on her, remind Nathan to grab his trumpet and lunch, and to put his helmet on as he puts on his back pack, buckles his lunch box strap to one of his pack’s straps, slings his soft carry case with trumpet in tow over the top of those loads, and goes out the garage door to hop on his bike for his 2 mile ride to school. A click of his helmet buckle, and a push down the driveway, and he’s off. “Love you!” We exchange. A few minutes later, my husband arrives home, and I quickly thank God he didn’t fall asleep at the wheel, beside the fact that he returned safely from the pandemonium of the law enforcement world. We high five each other, exchange a few words, and he’s off to shower and sleep.

Since he works 12 hour shifts, 3 and 4 days alternating, we won’t see JohnE until his work week is over since he is either sleeping or working. I take our dog Daisy out for her two mile sniff…I mean, walk…and then get home to get myself ready for the day. As I walk past the kitchen: depleted pantry shelves, unopened mail, and unread school handouts stacked on the counter, remind me of chores to be done, bills to be paid, calendar dates to be added, sorted, negotiated. The next hours of the day either involve hospital visits, perhaps a meeting with my colleagues, or a continuing education event, or errands to be run, a verbatim to write for peer group supervision, and yes, even days with just a book, or a laptop to write, or a hike, or just me, myself and I at a movie theater, because I refuse to be too busy (or for my children to be!), as much as I can help it in family life.

The community of family needs grace.

In the middle of one of these daily happenings, I might see a phone call come in from…
Nathan’s school, let’s say. “Oh, please let it not be the dean again…
Oh no, it is the dean again!
Okay,” I think to myself, “He’s either making silly noises in class again, or…
…he’s being bullied again.”
But addressing the epidemic that bullying is, is another story…

In the meantime, my 16 year old texts me to remind me she’s staying after school for creative writing club, and that she lost her cell phone charger, and one of her books, and that her boyfriend broke up with her. I suggest some places to look for her lost items, I give her some encouraging words, remind her to breathe, and then I remember that she’s taking that dreaded test in chemistry today. She replies with the good news that she lettered in speech and debate! “So at least there’s that,” she texts with a half-smile emoji. :/ She asks who is driving in tonight’s carpool to the Colorado Childrens Chorale rehearsal, and I remember that it is me. “Oh wait,” I think to myself, “Tonight’s Nathan’s first baseball practice of the season. Oh, whatever, I’ll figure that out later…” (Perhaps a favor for my parents to help with, and thank God for them!) Taylor and I text a bit more about when we might find an hour or two for her to drive so she can get her required hours in for her driver’s license…

…and then I wonder how her day’s experience will affect her socially, and emotionally, this precocious, bright, and sensitive one. So we’ve gone through about half of what a typical morning might look like. We’re at about 10-10:30am here when the phone call from the dean comes in.

Feeling full yet?

Well, I won’t narrate the rest of the day, but let’s shift to a Sunday, and see what that looks like. Thankfully, my kids do not have games scheduled on Sundays, which I know is a reality for many families. We commute on a 20 minute drive to church (because Calvary is worth it!) connecting and experiencing worship from 9am-noon, unless we came early for the Common Table Common Life chapel service, if it’s my Sunday to lead, which would make it 7:45am-noon, and if John’s working nights (he rotates every three months), then the kids have to come with me at 7:45. Thankfully, they are budding little musicians, and can participate in the chapel service, learning leadership, gaining confidence, finding purpose in their have-to, early Sunday rise.

After church, we grab lunch before going to piano lessons at another church about 25 minutes north of here, unless there’s a meeting after church, then we might leave early or skip a piano lesson (which might be good anyway, if it’s a week where practicing slipped a little…the community of family needs grace.) By the time we get home after piano lessons, we usually have about an hour before the kids leave to come back for youth choir and youth group. Good news for me though! JohnE is awake, after having slept most the day, and he’s off work on Sunday, so he takes the kids to church while I enjoy a space for a good evening run, or a chance to connect with my two best friends who are also mothers, and we laugh, cry, commiserate, and hold each other up.

It’s a challenge to balance family life with work, church, and play. But the blessings that surface in the beautiful messiness of it all fill my heart with the paradox of aching joy. It’s this little things, you know, like singing “Blackbird” and then being inspired to write a poem about singing lullabies to my children.

It’s nights where things don’t always follow the routine, like when I’m talking with my kids before bedtime, and right after I say, “Okay! Bed!”…we start talking about something else, and it repeats, again and again, until I’ve lost count of how many times the, “Okay! Bed!” behest has been hopelessly sandwiched between bizarre subject matter. Rich, silly, and sweet, and I am once again in awe of the wisdom filled, fresh-hearted reflections my children share. It’s things like Family Night Trampoline Time, when by what seems a miracle, all four of us sit together in a holy circle of sharing time.

It’s the moment I support my teenager who has unique struggles, and I remind her of one of my favorite quotes from a movie (Phoebe in Wonderland) I resonate with as a mother…it says “At a certain point in your life, probably when too much of it has gone by, you will open your eyes and see yourself for who you are, especially for everything that made you so different from all the awful normals…and you will say to yourself, ‘but I am this person.’ And in that statement, that correction, there will be…love.”

And I get to mother her through that hopeful revelation. It’s when my son in the middle of learning struggles, and grief over not wanting to grow up, being bullied, and the angst of middle school in general, takes time out of his afternoon of lego building to put a gift box on my desk with a folded up copy of a sacred painting he received in children’s church here at Calvary…along with a rubber lizard…just because he thought I would like it.

It’s watching the pure joy of grandparenthood gleam in my parents eyes, when their son-in-law, JohnE, or granddaughter Taylor with quick witted humor makes them laugh, or they smile at the homemade card (always homemade!) that grandson Nathan gave them.

It’s the comments about the Sunday morning sermon, or church school discussion, as we drive from church, revealing that my kids were actually listening, and the energy of church community begins its weekly infusion into the in-between Sundays of family life.

It’s seeing that marriage and family have taught me abundantly about God, about patience (something I really thought I had!) and about how my children, my little theologians that is, remind me of what’s precious about living. Our family, and so many communities of families are creating meaning in every space of challenge and delight, sorrow and discovery, in every day balancing, living and loving. It reminds me of Jesus’ prayer to God as he prays for his believers in John 17:26- it is Jesus praying with a parent heart, with maybe even a motherly heart, when he says, “I have made your very being known to them — who you are and what you do —and continue to make it known, so that your love for me might be in them exactly as I am in them.” It mysteriously makes sense.

And so the wonder of messiness, purpose, and sacred revealing in family life continues in God’s grand, Family Night Trampoline Time.

Jump! Or simply relax…

Thanks be to God.

Do Not Be Afraid


Have you ever thought of the words, “Do not be afraid” as a blessing? Autumn is here, a new season, new program endeavors (school, church, etc.), new harvest, the blanket of cooler weather arriving to rest the earth, new dying to new beginning. I decided to post this blessing on my blog so it may continue to be a blessing for me and for you. I wrote it after being invited to provide a blessing for students, faculty, and staff during the Opening Convocation at The Iliff School of Theology. Often when I sermonize, or prepare for blessings and prayer, I ponder the yearnings in my own heart. I recalled my own visceral emotions from being a new student in graduate school, and asked myself what I would have liked to have been blessed with as a beginning seminarian. 

I also recalled what one of my dear mentors, Rev. Greer said as he commented about my first sermon that I gave in my ordaining congregation. Knowing me well, he could see how I had preached from a vulnerable place. “[Sermons] are not only windows for others into the ancient stories of our faith tradition. They are windows into ourselves. Good preaching, in my humble opinion, speaks as much of, and to, the soul of the preacher as it does to the souls of those listening.” This is what he called preaching with integrity. When I preach, bless, write, pray, lead, it comes from my own sacred space of wonder, infused with Spirit to whom I call upon with open heart, mind, and body. Where do your thoughts and prayers take you? Is it to a place of head or heart? Is it to a place of attachments, or freedom? Do you take risks in response, or remain comforted by the same wineskins unable to receive fresh wine? (Mk. 2:22) 

It is easy to fall into fear when something new presents itself. My teacher, in the Benedictine Spiritual Formation Program, used to greet us, encourage us, and send us out with the all important reminder to not be afraid. Fear is an unfortunate, driving force in much of our world, even in some religious circles, and it warps and shadows the light of release, vulnerability, possibility, and willingness to listen and to change. Brene Brown, a research professor and writer, talks about people who have a profound capacity for joy, and how they can lean into vulnerability because of it. (I quoted her in my first sermon by the way!) She explained that being joyful is vulnerable because we tend to go straight to how that joy might be taken away. Fear sneaks in, and we imagine what might go wrong instead. I think this falls inline with new beginnings as well. She said that people who “soften into joy” (or, as I would add, begin something new, or courageously begin to change) instead of using a blissful moment as a “warning to start practicing disaster, they used it as a reminder to practice gratitude.”

While the context of the following words are within a seminary of new/seasoned students and professors embarking on a new year of academic studying, teaching, and reciprocal learning, may these words also be a blessing in whatever newness you find yourself in. The running theme is a blessed reminder to not be afraid. (Is. 44:8, 54:4, 51:7, Acts 18:9, Joshua 10:25, Jeremiah 46:27, 30:10, Zech. 8:15, Lk. 12:4, Mt. 28:10, 14:27, Mk. 5:36, Jn 14:25, and so on…you get the point…I could go on and on. The words “Do not fear”, “Do not be afraid”, “Fear not” are all over the sacred scriptures, and for good reason…and for a blessing):

____________________
Iliff School of Theology
Opening Convocation
 
Blessing from an Alumna
9/16/2015
———————————-
 
On behalf of all Iliff alumni, a blessing:
Students, professors, leaders, staff, and community,
Do not be afraid.
As you cross thresholds may you be mindful that they are thin places.
Do not be afraid.
As you move from canned answers to compelling questions, remember that critical thinking is intimate and emotional, and that seminary wholeness requires spiritual attentiveness as the equal, if not the greater, to academic excellence.
Do not be afraid.
As you receive such richness in your learning, may you give with abundance.
Do not be afraid.
As you ponder all things intellectual and scholarly, factual and historical, may you encounter Mystery and find rest in the poetry of having no answers.
Do not be afraid.
As you shape this place with who you are, may you recall the ancestors who walked where you walk, and let them breath in you.
Do not be afraid.
As you evaluate what you are learning, may you ask yourself how you are loving.
Do not be afraid.
As you release your grasp and let go, may you embark on the necessary work of grief. You will grieve, but
Do not be afraid.
As you encounter the structures of institutionalism, take the risk to be joyful, and to be vulnerable, and to fail, so that empathy doesn’t get shoved away by ego and perfection.
Do not be afraid.
May you be challenged to move beyond just finding yourself because you’re in a new location and a new experience, but because you are becoming yourself as a pilgrim, who is changed by real relationship to something of value.
Do not be afraid.
As you read books, excerpts, quotations, pericopes, and your vocabulary grows with delicious new words, may you not abandon the profound in words of simplicity, like grace, thanks, hello, belief, forgiveness, love.
Do not be afraid.
As you carry the financial burdens of educational costs, may you act in solidarity with the marginalized at every cost…and
Do not be afraid.
As you discuss, debate, question, read, write, and research, may you find sacred silence, space, soul nurturing rituals, and community.
Do not be afraid.
As you bravely share your sacred story, may you gently catch the sacred stories of others, and be changed by them.
Do not be afraid.
In the midst of all that is complexly and beautifully human, may you be directed by Divine leading.
Do not be afraid.
May you balance academic discipline with humble discipleship. 
Do not be afraid.
As you work your brain in seminary, may you be careful not to check your unique faith or your heart at the door. 
Do not be afraid.
May you all be responsible learners and leaders who don’t forget the essentiality of hearT work in the midst of harD work.
Do not be afraid.
As you deconstruct and reconstruct, may you find courage in the process of dying little by little knowing that it will free you to live into new beginnings.
Do not be afraid.
As you balance studies and teaching, families and work, may you find rest, peace, and play. It’s okay…
Do not be afraid.
As you doubt yourself, your reason for being here, your purpose, and your future, may you know deeply that You. are. enough.
You cannot hear the words, “Do not be afraid” too many times. So be blessed by them, and say them, again and again, to yourself and to each other.
May the Source of all wisdom and knowledge grant you strength and sustenance through the coming year. Blessings and Peace to you.
Amen

Blue Light: A Poem About Spirit, and Life’s Complexity and Beauty

Pentecost Sunday. Romans 8:6 says, “Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.” I often find that dance, art, journaling, pondering, praying, breathing, grieving…are ways in which we attempt to embody and reflect Spirit’s furtive, yet ubiquitous nature, engaging Spirit with experiences of the inexplicable. Even as Spirit intercedes with “sighs too deep for words,” this poem is my attempt to describe through poetic prose the way in which Spirit shows up, transforms, sustains, and breathes through all of life; evident, but never fully in our grasp.

Blue Light
Blue Light, Spirit, like the essence of night
Soft, tranquil, gelid
A hushed, low luster
It eases the burden I secretly maintain
It shoulders me into a breath of simplicity
I rest in Blue Light, carried
Like a snowflake brushing my ear with a loud silence
Whispering an invitation to float
Like snowflakes, wherein forgotten droplets of water hold the universe
Frozen in a delicate design, and I can see it,
A blue-lit instant
Power in the bursting of a flowering bulb
A soul sensation like a paint brush on my carnal canvas
Exposure of a deep yearning; a visceral longing
Igniting the spark to be a Creating, Connecting being,
Sensually ethereal
Gripping as a melancholy, musical drone
Fiery, as a jazz blue note, unable to be written on the score of life
It fills my soul to lift me into genesis of dance 
Places me on edges of lament,
Blue Light

Imagining the courage to die little by little
Freed to live in the new beginning of every moment
Blue Light revealing…I am to be mutable
While I am enough
The magnitude of awakening 
The mysterious Sound

Created in me, created in we, 
Blue Light.

—

“Gripping, as a melancholy, musical drone…Fiery, as a jazz blue note, unable to be written on the score of life…” Having been ordained on Pentecost Sunday last year (wow! it’s been an entire year!), I share here an excerpt from my seminary/ordination theological papers. I wrote in one section, as was required, about Spirit:

“Spirit cannot be chained in a word; its historical manner is ever the moan…” -Jones and Lakeland. This reminds me of a musical drone-constant, erie and mysterious. The Song of Athene, by contemporary composer, John Tavener, begins with a vocal bass drone. It is one, very low note, continually sung throughout the entire piece. It is soft, resonate, distant, but without it, the rest of the notes would not be filled and supported the way in which they are. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p7q1VRiwZF0 Song of Athene, Tavener) I invite you to listen to the piece and imagine that continuous note as a metaphor of the Holy Spirit. (This piece includes a reference to Luke 23:42, “Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.”) On the other hand, Spirit is also aligned to the energy of jazz: fiery, motivating—as opposed to, but in addition to, subtle and quieting. “…the jolt of joy when a jazz note finally leaps off the map of meaning into the improvisational nowhere of “insanity”. -Jones & Lakeland. Spirit is like this. The “blue note” in jazz, akin to Spirit, plays in a slightly lower tone than the major scale note, expressing itself in a way that changes the entire feel. It cannot be written on the score, it is not a drastic shift, but its influence is profound. In much the same way, Spirit cannot be “written” on the “score of life” but it has a profound impact on a life of faithful discernment, contemplation, and action. Wynton Marsalis, trumpet player and composer (a favorite of mine), can play using what musicians call circular breathing. The instrumentalist breathes in through the nose while continuously pushing air out of the mouth so that the notes are not interrupted. (http://vimeo.com/39864391 Cherokee, Ray Noble, arranged by Wynton Marsalis- Circular breathing example begins at 2:12.) Watch the continuous breath at 2:12 as Wynton plays. It is incredible! Spirit is like this movement of breath.

—
Jones, Serene & Lakeland, Paul. Constructive Theology: A Contemporary Approach to Classical Themes. Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg  
     Fortress, 2005.


Jonah on My Mind

REGURGITANT JONAHDOX
 
In the dark, depths of bellies and holds of ships 
truths of uncertainty are the only waters on which to sail. 
For the story of Jonah is an absurdity where 
the revealing of unknowing is the upchucked truth. 
 
A silent prophet runs away from a wind-hurling God
Is Jonah resistant, or is God? For God is revealed as a 
nonsensical changing of the changeless One, 
who wants to proclaim wickedness of humans, then compassion for the living!?
 
Such ambiguity gives reason again and again to desire 
the putrid belly of a fish, where darkness calms, 
and oh to be centered in the body of such a grand creature- 
in the gut of intuition; perhaps fish are gifts to be inside of…
 
But then Jonah is let out, not to be birthed, but to be 
spewed, vomited…Provisions of fish given and why? 
Only to be transformed into regurgitant projectiles..
I’d rather stay in slime..
 
But I am Jonah, the only one in the story who is given a name! 
I am called, and the earth and its surroundings respond to me, don’t you see? 
 
I sleep during storms because I am confident, but not so is the 
God of annoyance by Ninevites, this so-called God who demands me 
to employ the power that God is supposed to hold…
 
Were it not already in God’s possession? 
Or has God’s absence only made my story true- 
as the named one, Jonah: wisdom identified?
 
Perhaps Jonah is God and God is Jonah. 
Maybe Jonah is you, where disobedience is divine, 
where sleep is sacred, where bowels of fish mirror visceral experiences- 
providing new lands and destinations…where emotions are real, 
where your insistence on the absurdities of life’s leadings 
make God the one who changes. Can God be changed? 
 
…You, the one with identity, you, the Jonah who reminds God
by your devious wit, creating a God who is worthy to believe..
because you have a name…
 
“Should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city, 
in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons 
who do not know their right hand from their left and also many animals?” 
This God asks. And of course Jonah silently knows, hidden under his anger. 
The named one Jonah, in a revered recalcitrance 
finally creates the God of compassion worthy to be known…
 
And all along you thought Jonah was the one who didn’t get it. 
For is it not good to question what we have been told? 
 
And so Jonah’s story, which is our story, is told, 
from pendulums of emotions, from daring adventures 
and risk taking endeavors where the divinity of humanity is affirmed.
 
Embrace the absurdity! Let us all run away with wind-hurls, 
travel the seas, go to the depths of fish-gutsy questions and rebelliousness, 
spewed onto lands where the two most powerful words are voiced 
by the least expected ones, those Ninevites who got it right when they said, 
“Who knows?”

Yielding Yawn

My babies are 15 and 11 now, and at times, I recall their babyhood years like something right behind, tapping me on my shoulder. I still sing to and with my children, but I love the warmth of remembering the way a mother’s song comforted them when they were so little. Tender moments singing lullabies to my children evoke two things: deep awareness of what it means to be a mom…and poetry. I have sung several songs to my daughter and my son over the years, and one favorite is, “Blackbird” by the Beatles. Another favorite is, “If I Had Words” mostly known from the movie, “Babe” but the original was written in the 70’s. Those are the two I sang the most to them. One night, after singing, “Blackbird” Nathan fell asleep, and I walked away from his bedroom with that ache in my heart, that love that is so indescribable. I began to cry, and knew I needed to write. It seems the only way, sometimes even better than photography can, to capture the memory. Tears flowed out of me much like the time I would watch him sleep, standing over his bed after our breastfeeding days had come to an end, and I would cry, and cry, and cry, grateful for the bond, and grieving the loss of that intimate time. Or, the time my daughter moved into her own bedroom, no longer sleeping in my room, and I told my husband, “I feel like she went away to college already!” Every time your child experiences something momentous, it’s like all of these events add on to each other, and weave themselves tighter around your heart. There’s a quote I heard once that says, “Having a child is like having your heart walk around outside your body.” It’s relative to all things painful and joyful. I couldn’t have said it any better myself. When the tears came that night, and I began writing about it, I realized that those rising depths of emotion come not only from the mother-child bond of sweet-evening, song-filled goodnights, but from the Great Lullaby Mother whose Song always sings in us, but was glimpsed fully and fleeting- that dear moment by the ache of my heart, the lump in my throat, and the tears of truth. Here’s the poem I wrote that night after “Blackbird” and my boy:

Yielding Yawn (Inspired by singing lullabies to my son, Nathan)
“Blackbird” sung maternal and slight
His head turns over with the moon
Cheek nestled into resting night
And his yawn accepts the tune
Eyelids cover the day’s adventure
Into dreams of boy-filled new
Resonant heaven in song’s measure
Lullaby Mother, and a twilight two
—
And just for fun:

Are You Rushing or Are You Dragging; How Do We Live Into a Good “T” Tempo?

Here is my late night wannabe movie critic review and theological lens on the move, Whiplash:

You can’t have good art without enveloping the human element of relationship, and the foundation of love that sustains life. The teacher, Fletcher, in the movie, “Whiplash” is a beast, who tries to squeeze performance out of its needed humanity. He fails. There is no way a good jazz band would put up with teaching like that, not to mention play well. There was no connection, no camaraderie among the band members. They learned well from their teacher displaying contempt toward one another. The music “acted” as if they were connected- and this was the unrealistic (but enjoyable!) part of the film. I scoffed at Fletcher when he accused his student of not being able to find the tempo. Nice try, but there is no way anyone could find a tempo with such a short cue. His fusspot, to-the-tee, tyrannical teaching was no fit for the world of Jazz. Jazz is not so precise, but rather chaotic and creative like the order out of chaos in the Creation Story, and a God who likes to experiment…Jazz players, and the whole world of jazz genre, where freedom, creativity, and improv are at the heart of it, would never gel with that kind of pitiful pedagogy. Now, I only have high school and early college experience playing in jazz band, and my strength is in amateur classical trumpet, although I loved paying jazz; and I’m sure there are some tough, hard line instructors out there, but unless discipline (not abuse) comes with love, excellence comes at too great a cost. Since I cannot help but to watch movies with a theological lens, I see Fletcher as the God that deserved to be told “F*** you” as the student, Andrew did- mouthing the words to him as he played with confidence in the final scene of the movie. What price does one pay when trying to prove oneself to this kind of God? Almost death, as we saw. An abusive, vindictive, violent God will produce a cringing devotee, myopically focused on pleasing this “Most High” to the point where the devotee will be isolated, and blaming others, fearful, and dangerous, and there will be no community-an essentiality to life. Jazz, like Spirit is evident, but never within our grasp, as both teacher and student fail to realize. In the final scene where Andrew drifts into a state of euphoric trance, like that of a Sufi Whirling Dervish, the camera focuses on his chest, and you can almost see his heart pounding inside- is it made new?! Perhaps he achieves the perfection of love and discipline, and like that of the prodigal son, he came onto the stage after being embraced and kissed by his father, and perhaps he sees then and there that he didn’t make a fool of himself on stage, having been set up by Fletcher…no, he had been a fool in life, neglecting what truly matters. Does his performance reflect a new found balance between love and (not abuse, but) discipline (because you have to have both)? Does his sudden partnership and newly found connection with Fletcher that culminates in the grand finale end of “Caravan” signify forgiveness and transformation? Is that a reflection of the one scene we thought Fletcher might actually find redemption when he shared his grief over a former student’s death? Fletcher himself said he never had a “Charlie Parker” but he tried…well no wonder. We do not know how the story continues, but if they were unchanged, then surely Nieman and Fletcher will both die young.

If anything, watch this movie for the fine camera work, editing (although not quite as precise as could be if you’re a viewer with great attention to detail…some things were out of sync…but jazz, right?) and watch it for the jazz music, even though regrettably, getting the full taste of good jazz is almost, just almost, impossible due to the overarching despicable abuse of the teacher, and hubris of the student…If you can, filter that out, and enjoy what you hear. Acting was fairly top notch. 4 out of 5 stars! 

Interstellar: It’s all Relative

Interstellar: it’s all relative. I could just stop there. Or maybe, Interstellar: We’ve only just begun. Simple, short, true. But, then again, this is a blog, so I’ll write a few more words. I watched Interstellar a few months ago. I don’t think I was able to respond to it right away. I had to ponder it for a while. I’ve been journaling about it off and on. Wow, what a trip! If you’re familiar with Christopher Nolan, you know he writes with complexity and so many nuances.
 
Here’s my take on Intersteller, watched through a theological lens. First, interconnectedness, and timelessness as in eternity: I often thought about how our concept of time as compared to God’s (chronos and Kairos) was revealed in the film. I think it mirrors the concept of eternity as not linear.. And of course, it’s all theoretical, both physics and theology. What kinds of forces are permeating the three dimensions we are only currently using? And, are those forces within us? Perceptions of the finite may actually hold the infinite (God within and around- more dimensions).
 
And of course, I appreciate movies like this with high intellect, showing that science and faith don’t have to be mutually exclusive, and that both carry a sense of awe and wonder. This brings me to what I found to be most applicable to my theology in the movie, and that is embracing the unknown, and how when we let go of certainty, when we embrace what we don’t know, that is when humanity shines (and yet, can also reveal the worst in us). Which will we choose? With passion, searching for love, for discovery, and possibility is the ultimate act of substantial faith, and perhaps why humans are even here! And what of resurrection? (Loved the use of “Lazarus”)
 
The environmental message is always showing up in this movie, and it quite smartly, has both personal yearning juxtaposed with the universal reality- the need, in order to truly “survive”, to think beyond ourselves.The concept of hope: This movie shows that edge of humanity, where it is quoted that we define ourselves by overcoming the impossible. There is a motivating factor that comes out of hopelessness, and we “prove” who we really are by when in the face of hopelessness, we still act. One of my seminary professors, when talking about injustice, would clearly state that he is hopeless, and students would try to convince him that there is always hope. Is there? There was an exchange once where one character said something about impossibility…it’s impossible, and Coop responded by saying that it was necessary. A mentor of mine introduced me to a quote by Valcav Havel that reads, “Hope is definitely not the same thing as optimism.  It is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense regardless of the outcome.” Well, there you go! What’s irrational, but necessary in matters of faith? I also like the idea of thinking that we have only just begun- whatever this journey is…

 
So many things about kinetic energy are evident in this movie: body intelligence- how exchanges on a cellular level are also a massive, cosmic reality. Carl Sagan said we are all made of star-stuff! Oh, and he also said, “For small creatures such as we, the vastness is only bearable through love.”  Isn’t it compelling to think that love is what can make life bearable in moments of death, loss, chaos, and that realization may be simple and grounding, but the mystery of love and its capability to transcend is almost too much to grasp? To bear? And ultimately, what is it about? Love. Dr Brand said, “Love is the one thing that transcends time and space.” Great conversation in that scene of the movie about which planet to choose to explore for viability. 
 
I have to say, my favorite part of the movie is when Coop explains to his daughter that her name, “Murphy” and Murphy’s Law doesn’t mean something bad, but that whatever can happen will. This has some pretty great implications for what we assign labels of good and bad to. Theodicy? Remembering the discussion about nature- as not evil. Dangerous, but not evil. Perhaps the Meaningful lives in the idea that NOT everything happens for a reason. Yet, we can also talk about how space exploration will not rid the problem of evil. The nature of humanity is the paradox of the Imago Dei and our selfish drives, a constant struggle of being human and in self-discovery. 
 
I must also point out, that as a musician, one of the most relevant things for me in greatly made films is the musical score. It can be the maker or the breaker in what makes a good film, in my opinion. And Interstellar‘s score (Hans Zimmer!) is not only brilliant and stellar (no pun intended) but it has theological themes. First of all, there’s an organ! 🙂 It was ethereal, and as much a part of the film, rather than a half-ass attempt to support it. It also allowed profound moments of necessary silence, nothingness and yet total expansiveness. The music was very well woven into the scenes and themes of the movie. The music and themes revealing the ways humans are always trying to grasp the unknown- and some of us do attempt that through religious practices and grappling with faith and in what to believe.
 
And what of colonization? Oh boy, we could go on about that topic…I just wish this movie walked away with more awards than it did. It certainly deserved them.