“I’d never live in a place like that!”
Those words used to cross my mind every time I drove by a subdivision where all the houses looked alike.
But where am I now? I’m living in a townhouse in a community where all the homes have a very similar look.
Times change, don’t they? Different needs, different priorities.
WHAT REALLY MATTERS
If you know anything about introverts, you know they like to be on their own.
If you know anything about independent women, you know they like to do things themselves.
If you know anything about people who live on their own, you know they prefer quiet to socializing.
If you know me at all, you know I’m all of the above.
Which may work well when life is going along smoothly. But a cancer diagnosis—let alone the third one—upends the myth of living solo.
WAITING OR LIVING?
Waiting can be tough. This week, as I wait for biopsy results, my body tells me that—from my clenched teeth to my unsettled stomach, from my ragged breathing to my need to eat crunchy foods. And my mind has a lot to say about it, too. From wild “what ifs” to states of shut down where my brain seems to go numb.
There are a lot of things in life that keep us waiting, from minor stalls to major events …
CROSSROADS OF THE KNOWN AND THE UNKNOWN
“We found something.”
While I can imagine those words might be welcome if you’re looking for something valuable, they’re not words any woman wants to hear when she has her annual mammogram.
Which I did, this week. Had the mammogram. Heard the words.
So I’m going to say right up front that this blog post is going to be different from others I’ve written because I’m in a different head space.
Yesterday, pre-mammogram, I looked at the three graphics I had created for the Narrative Lectionary reading about Paul and Silas to choose one to use as the basis for this week’s post. None of them called to me.
Twenty-four hours later—and one mammogram and one ultrasound later—the graphic I titled “God in the Crossroads” fairly leapt off the page.
WHERE IS GOD?
This week I’ve been sick with bronchitis. As I’ve cycled through the gamut of symptoms—sore throat, dripping nose, hacking cough, chest congestion—I’ve become more and more withdrawn from the world.
You’ve probably been there at some point; illnesses have a tendency to be all-consuming. It can be hard to imagine caring about the outside world again. Sometimes it’s hard to imagine ever feeling well again, ever laughing again, ever having energy again.
But I trust that will happen.
In some small, micro-cosmic way, I think this bit of trusting is analogous to trusting that God will be there for me, even when I don’t feel as if that’s possible or can’t imagine how that might be true.
DIVINE REASSURANCE
Here’s the thing: I’m trying to write this blog post about peace on a day when the world is anything but peaceful. There are threats of bombing and obliteration. There are calls for removals from office and refusals to obey orders. I have to step back for a moment to ask myself what on earth can I say about peace at a time like this?
One thing keeps niggling at the edges of my anxiety and anger and fear, and it comes from the Narrative Lectionary text for this week (John 20:19-31). In a scene where Jesus appears to his disciples after his resurrection, he tells them, “Peace be with you.” And he doesn’t say it just once; he says it THREE times.
When someone keeps repeating themselves, we might think, ‘Okay, okay. I got it the first time.’ But at some point, the thought might cross our minds, ‘Wow. This might be important. I’d better pay attention.’
R-RATED?
I feel as if I should put an R-rated warning on this blog post: “For mature audiences only.”
Because I’m going to talk about death. Starting with Jesus’s death. And then my own.
The Narrative Lectionary reading for “Passion Sunday” is the text where Pilate hands Jesus over to be crucified (John 19:16b-22). One important detail is …
A DIFFERENT KIND OF POWER
We’re all too familiar with a terrifying amount of misused power these days. Too much. Too often. Too ruthless. Too harmful.
So it was with a different set of eyes that I read about the power struggles in this week’s Narrative Lectionary story of Pilate condemning Jesus (John 19:1-16a).
The Jewish people claimed they had no power to crucify Jesus.
Pilate claimed, “I have the power to release you and power to crucify you.”
And Jesus responded, “You have no power over me unless it is given you from above.”
Jesus’s idea of power is obviously different, but how are we to understand what “power from above” is?
IS THAT REALLY TRUE?
It’s hard to know what the truth is these days. Sometimes I feel as if I’m the Velveteen Rabbit asking “What is REAL?” in perpetual replay.
Depending on what our news sources are, or what angle any given reporter might spin, we can read radically different views on a single event.
How do we know what we are reading is true . . .
WE’VE ALL BEEN THERE
Who, me??? I’d never do that!
I’d never make promises I couldn’t keep, like Peter telling Jesus, “I will lay down my life for you” and then turning his back.
I’d never disown a friend, like Peter denying he even knew Jesus.
I’d never be afraid to stand up for someone I love.
But if I think of Peter as more of an archetype of human behavior, I have to come face-to-face with the truth: I am Peter, at a core level.
