By Anne Williston
~ words meant for reality ~

All that matters is that the old be recovered on a new plane and be, itself, a new reality. This, too, gets away from you. So let it get away.

A Thomas Merton Reader: 16

Living green is a term you hear frequently.  It is applied to many things.  Business uses it to advertise when they adopt new ways of working that are more environmentally friendly.  Those who lived through the Great Depression have lived that way all their lives – saving, reusing, and repurposing were ingrained by the years of living with barely enough to survive.  My parents were like this.  We had a good life growing up, but going out to buy things was not always an option.  Money was put aside for the future, towards that rainy day that was sure to come.  Depression – era children experienced first hand what a “rainy day” was like: the homeless drifting from town to town, men lining up hoping to get work for the day, families pulled apart.

As a whole, America forgot what it was like to live without.  Abundance and prosperity made us soft.  Spend now – spend tomorrow’s wage.  Rainy days were thought to be a thing of the past.  But now, if it isn’t raining, storm clouds are threatening the course of our lives today and for some time into the future.

Living without has been repackaged as “Living Green.”  As a marketing tool, it sounds fantastic.  But if it isn’t a way of life, it doesn’t work.  Truly living green would mean abandoning the use of credit as a way to get what we want now.  Truly living green would require sacrifice and saving in hopes of a better future.  Not “business as usual.”

America’s economy is a mess – it is based on the use of credit so that people can buy more and buy more often.  Already, some people are spending more freely.  But, the financial core of this country is rotten.  The house is falling apart.

New reality?  We aren’t there yet.  This, too, has gotten away from us.  Until we change and let life based on spending and credit get away completely, our lives will not improve.  The house has a new coat of paint, but the termites are still destroying the foundation.

I’ve been going through boxes and boxes of papers, both from home and from work for the past week.  I’ve found all kinds of pictures that I need to sort through. I tossed several large bags full of papers – stuff I no longer believe I will use.  In the middle of one file, I found a plastic bag.  In the bag is a handful of seeds.  I don’t know what they are – I think I got them from someone at work.  I meant to give them to Mike, and here they are, shoved in a box and forgotten.

Today is my son’s 20th birthday.  He is leaving the teen years behind.  I’ve noticed the seeds of adulthood are starting to sprout in his life.  He made an eye doctor appointment on his own.  He asked me to help him prepare a budget.  He replaced the worn tires on his car. (I’m amazed he noticed they needed replacement!)

Of course, he still has some seeds that haven’t grown yet.  Yesterday, the replacement for his lost phone arrived.  It gave me a chance to catch up with one of his friends as he used the friend’s phone to access all the phone numbers he needed to re-enter.  (He never set up the back-up program to save his numbers for him in case he lost his phone.)  But – he did buy the phone insurance, so replacing the lost one was not nearly as painful as it could have been.  So, actually, that seed is growing, but still very tiny. 

Responsibility seems to grow in spurts in my life, as well.  After moving last fall, I had to take full responsibility for my own life.  While I still have two teens at home, it is the first time I have lived “alone.”  My youngest daughter is now gone for the summer and starts college in the fall.  My youngest son is frequently out of the house, visiting friends or his dad.

When my emotions get the best of me, I no longer have easy access to my husband.  I can’t demand that he “make me” feel better.  How I fell into that habit, I can’t even begin to describe, but moving out has helped to break it.  I am learning to feel all the emotions I used to stuff, deeming them unmentionables.  Grief, sadness, and all the ordinary sorrows of a human life are not obstacles to avoid, but the means to germinate a new understanding of who I am and who I am meant to be.

6/30/2010

Somehow, in spite of difficult life circumstances, I find myself in a place where I am having fun.  How?  Truthfully, I don’t know.  As I break the co-dependant habits of my life, I am finding freedom.  The race to complete my Master’s, finished Spring 2008, has ended.  I can breathe.  There are margins in my life.  I’m no longer revving frantically every moment of every day.  My motto, “Do it Now,” can be discarded.  I adopted it because I had so many responsibilities I had to do them weeks and months before actual deadlines in order to make room for upcoming requirements at work, in school, and at home. 

So, what’s my new motto?  I bought a new set of mugs this winter.  Each has a trio of words inscribed on them.  My favorite is “Live well, Laugh often, Love much.”  While out shopping with my teenage daughter a few weeks ago, I found a bracelet that has the condensed version: “Live, Laugh, Love.”  I wear it daily, a reminder that life is short and while it is sometimes important to “Do it Now” it is equally important to make sure my days are filled with people and events that encourage me to be myself. 

I want to live well: appreciate every moment of life as a gift to spend wisely.  I want to laugh often: life doesn’t have to be so serious.  Look for the humorous moment that can lighten my day and keep me from being tense and nervous as well as relaxing those around me.  Finally, I want to love much: give generously to those for whom I care most deeply; be compassionate towards those who cross my path even momentarily.

Your smug dismissal

of my hoping,

wanting, yearning

keeps me silent.

Neither separation

nor ending

do I seek.

I am trained to

render my voice

into speaking that

nullifies me

into you.

Yet, I remain.

You have ejected me

with burden intact

and untraceable

from its origin.

What is this wanting,

What is this sign?

You are indeed my rock and my fortress;
for your name’s sake lead me and guide me,
take me out of the net that is hidden for me,
for you are my refuge.
Into your hand I commit my spirit;
you have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God.

- Psalm 31:3-5

I walk upstream, pausing to take a picture.  A broken stump next to the river catches my eye.  I walk over carefully, observing the small greenery growing from its center. Crouching to take a photograph, I reflect on the new life springing from the dead wood.  Will it remain?  Can it find nourishment from the rotten, crumbling roots of what was once a strong tree?

I stand too quickly, turn, and fall into the hole where the roots of another tree once were.  I take a quick breath, as the stitches from my recent surgery pull, a reminder I haven’t fully healed.  I brush off my jeans, and walk farther along the river.  Finally, I turn around and head back.  I realize noone waits for me at home.  The kids are out with friends.  I slow my pace and decide to find a place to rest for a few moments.  I spy a rock next to the river.

I sit carefully, unwilling to overbalance into the water. I try to quiet my heart, which is lonely and filled with the anguish of separation.  My emotions stream along the surface of my soul, as the stream slides by, swiftly and smoothly, without ever stopping.  How can I go through each day, without letting those emotions overpower me?  It seems impossible to me.

Like the hole into which I accidentally stepped, there are emotional holes all around me as I walk through the day.  Some I can avoid, but others I have to try to walk around without falling in, and that is very, very hard. Some are hidden, and I stumble into them without warning.

Catching my breath, I force my head up and the tears to subside.  Else, I’d never stop crying.  My life isn’t over.  I must go forward.

I picked up a new spiral notebook to carry with me the other day.  The front cover declares, “Live Simple.”  The chaos of the past several years prevented me from achieving that directive in my life.  Now, every time I pull my notebook out of my purse to jot down a phrase or journal my thoughts, I am reminded that more stuff does not bring pleasure.  Hanging on to what I think I have will not satisfy. 

The cover is also adorned with the outlines of several butterflies.  Symbolic of transformation, I consider the fact that nature creates a safe space apart, where the quiet caterpillar becomes the butterfly.  It retires to the chrysalis, alone, surrounded by soft jade walls.  They begin opaque and gradually grow more transparent, finally cracking open, allowing the butterfly to emerge, a new creature, to a completely new world graced with the freedom of flight.

I have downsized from a large, chaotic household to a small, quiet apartment.  Like a chrysalis, it surrounds and soothes me with its silence, softens the impact of harsh reality.  I live simple here.  My possessions are limited, my responsibilities made more orderly and attainable. 

While not spacious, I am more able to breathe here. I contemplate the future with care; slow my reactions as I consider what step to take next.  I speak gently to my two youngest children, share quiet moments as they settle down each night.  Knowing next year will bring more changes into our lives, I treasure this year with my daughter, now a senior, soon to emerge herself as she pursues her dreams. We hang her new curtains, which I’ve just hemmed, enjoying the bold impact they make in her new room. I play cards with my 13 year old son, laughing as we enjoy matching wits.  Small pleasures make happy memories to hold onto.

Deep breaths to help us all grow.  Simple steps to direct us towards a life that allows each of us to become richer as we focus on relationship, not possessions.  This chrysalis will become transparent, and finally break open. I’ll have to emerge, but after my wings dry, I’ll stretch them, vibrant and strong, and sail into the sky.

“Christian faith is spoken into our bodies.” ~ Marc Ostlie-Olson. Luther Seminary God Pause. 9-4-2009

I have been made so aware of my body this summer (pain has a way of doing that).  My physical self is so weak!  But God speaks faith into my bones, into my flesh, into the center of my being.  The phrase, “gut feelings” is based in the reality that intuition manifests in physical clues to what is true.  Our guts are closely tied to the emotions.  Butterflies in the stomach, stomach tied in knots.  Worry can lead to many stomach problems.  Stress can exacerbate and even create pain in our physical center.  I spent six days in the hospital in mid-July with Pancreatitis.  Being so ill has forced me to take time out to evaluate what matters most in my life. While visiting my parents in Illinois, far from home, I found myself in so much pain that I asked my Mom to take me to the hospital.  The adult returns to the position of the child. 

We cannot live without a pancreas.  It orchestrates the absorption of nourishment into our bodies. The pancreas sits a little to the left in the center of the body, just under the breasts, beneath the stomach.  The pain literally doubled me over, made it impossible to walk upright.  The treatment is to stop all food and drink by mouth, deliver liquids to the body by IV, allowing the pancreas to rest.  Without the ability to rest, the pancreas could be damaged and possibly quit functioning or cause other organs to be damaged.  It is a powerful organ – controlling the life of the body as much as the heart, perhaps even more.  The pancreas has a dual function – it secretes enzymes into the digestive system and hormones into the blood. 

In my helplessness, over the course of my stay in the hospital, I realized there are many, many circumstances that I have tolerated, some for numerous years, that I can no longer allow to exist.  I must infuse the power of the pancreas into my life.  Rather than continue as a victim, without control to change my circumstances. I must take control of the habits, and the lies I have told myself that twisted my guts into knots, and made bile rise in my throat as I choked down and suppressed my emotional pain. I am not a victim and I have the power to change.  I can find a way to take six days of emotional rest, as I was forced to take six days of physical rest.  I’ve taken the first steps to reduce stress, to simplify my life and introduce some control back where there was no control.  I am claiming the power of the pancreas as my own.

Traveling, traveling! I’ll be away from the computer for a couple weeks - I can’t wait to visit with special friends and family.  Turning 50 has emphasized the importance of staying connected with those that matter.  I managed to re-connect with a friend I haven’t seen since high school on Facebook! It will be great to see her…think of me, pool side, exchanging our stories and pictures.  Smile!

My husband asked, “Why do these things always happen to us?”  We live between enough and not enough.  We depend on plumbers to call and honor warranties without hesitation.  We wait, in our ignorance of basic home maintenance, shivering through cold showers when our hot water heater quits working.  At the mercy of our own choices, some foolish, others misguided, some crafted out of the naïve assumption that love always finds a way, we fight bitterness as we splash cold water on our faces each morning. 

I ponder the inequities of our lives.  My students face the same or worse than we do.  Many of them come from families that rent, so are free from the cost of ownership we face. Class discussions reveal they have intimate knowledge of the dangers of using credit.  I rejoice that they may avoid the mistakes that now plague my own life.  I should have known better, but we financed with an A.R.M., using our equity to pay down debt.  We need to refinance again, but our credit is bad due to cut hours for my husband and our own financial errors.  We can’t refinance.  We’re stuck.

Our hot water heater is broken.  We’re miserable, tempers flare, as we face our inability to fix what’s broken by ourselves.

We’ve ignored basic financial sense.  Money sluices through our fingers, feasts of roasted pork followed by thin soup.  We heat hot water on the stove to wash the dishes.  Filling the basin once more, we mix hot with cold, step into the tub and raise our arms, shivering in anticipation of the hot downpour, water rivulets on the scalp and skin, cleansing fear from our skin.  Thus we remain, not giving way or giving in. 

My daughter and I walked down

to the bridge on main street, laughing

as we slipped along the sidewalk in the

dark, she cuddling her small dog to her

chest, and I leading the way, walking

swiftly, ducking the fingers of low branches

that sought to snag our hair.  We stopped

on the corner, before crossing, listening

to the loud report of fireworks. Still, we

could not see their bloom in the sky

before us. Misty rain coated our skin,

hair-raised, goose-pimpled. We laughed. 

Should we go on?  The rain began to soak

into our clothing.  The sign changed to walk;

we raced across the street, turned, and hurried

past the apartment building blocking our view

of the river. We reached the bridge

on Main Street, panting lightly. Turning,

looking down the river towards the park,

we gazed in admiration as the fireworks

continued to pepper the sky with color,

man-made thunder blasting through the rain.

My daughter’s eyes sparkled. So beautiful,

she sighed.  Delight stretched the minutes

as we watched in wordless wonder,

together in the rain.