ebbing and flowing

(from 1-27-16)
We are asked in class to introduce ourselves and share about our career path. I have been writing my way through my twenties and this writing helps me to orient myself to where I am and where I have been. The story I share comes with ease, though it is a deep reflection on what kind of person I was and am becoming. I speak about how I once based my identity on being a “do-gooder,” aware that many others in this room may consciously or unconsciously consider themselves that way. But when I share my truth, I am not asking others to do what I have done or think the way I do. I speak from my heart, about how my well-laid plans were cast aside when I had an interior crisis, how I focused so much on my inner work that year (so young, just 23), journaling and working something like a personal 12-step program – I say this and suddenly wonder how many people just started wondering what addiction I had, but no mind, this is my life and their curiosity is their issue. I become impassioned as I exult that it is inner change, the changing of the heart, that matters the most. I crescendo to how I love my clients and love the work I do and want to help other people change the depths of their life. I finish my little speech exuberantly, throwing my arms wide, The possibilities are open! and quiet back down, having said my piece, spoken my heart, said my truth. It feels good.

(from 2-1-16)
Little guilt tendrils crawl up my body as I sit in my client sessions, wishing they were over and I could go home and melt, exist, crawl into my lover’s arms, read a book, eat a salad, something… It’s only Monday, why so much exhaustion as I start out my week after a pleasant weekend? Is it the warmth of the therapy rooms, inducing sleepiness in mind and body? Is it four months to graduation, ready and itching to finish this up but not sure how ready I am to jump into something new, to sell my life to a full time job, to give myself up to a profession? Am I on the wrong track, in the wrong career? I have to believe no, that the joys I have at other times during this work outweigh this moment’s sense of tiredness and impatience. I have to believe no, because I have invested three years and staked my identity on this work. It could be that trying to balance all the things I am balancing at this moment would make anyone exhausted. My friends tell me this is the case, even as I look around at others who somehow manage to balance full time work, full time school, and family… but no need to compare to others. At this moment, I need a little nurturance for myself. Today is this kind of day. Next time might be another. My love and energy will be restored, and I have to keep my faith that my trajectory is going in the right direction, even if I sometimes feel shaky.

(from 2-2-16)
I notice that I slip behind in my writings and make up one, two, even three days when I’ve missed too many writing days in a row. I write things that feel like they will end up on the cutting room floor, but I allow myself the grace to do so. Too many days of this makes me feel a little discouraged, wondering when something good will be written again and when I might get my groove back. Maybe it’s just the mid-winter blues, even though Indy has hardly experienced a winter this year. Maybe it’s hibernation of the soul, quieting down to emerge in the sunlight later. Maybe it’s the things I don’t understand now but will later. Maybe I can just relax into the ebb and flow of life and life in today’s moment, embracing it for all it is.

ebb and flow

Extravagant grace

Just when you think the old religious metaphors don’t work for you anymore, they slap you upside the head on a quiet Sunday morning in Quaker meeting.

It’s just the story of the prodigal son, returned home to his father who welcomes him in with a new robe and a feast. The father, full of extravagant grace, never questions a bit of why he was estranged for so long or what in the world he did with his entire inheritance.

It’s just the story of the woman and the alabaster jar, who cracks open a jar of the most expensive perfume and pours it over Jesus’ feet in front of his disciples, seemingly no rhyme or reason for doing so until Jesus explains it.

It’s just the phrase, “God wants to give us extravagant grace.” The word echoes. Extravagant. Extravagant.

The word itself is extravagant, parading itself across the tongue with its arms flung wide open, tangoing its way solo across the stage. Look at me. I’m almost too much to handle!

Extravagant makes me uncomfortable with how out of proportion it seems, how nonsensical, how wasteful; how it throws care to the wind while making decisions; how it lives in the moment, in the right-now, not a care for judgment of the past or future.

Nothing was extravagant in my family growing up. We are serious, German folk; hardworking, penny-pinchers, you-get-what-you-deserve type of people. We are individualistic; we emphasize justice more than mercy. As children, we got water and a burger at Burger King going out to eat. French fries were extravagant. You don’t get things for free; you work for what you get.

It seems ironic that it was a German, Martin Luther, who helped turn the wheel of religious history toward a period where grace was no longer supposed to be earned, worked for, or paid for, but was God’s free gift to give out. Maybe my German side needs to reach far, far back to tap back into this notion of an unmerited free gift, and apply it not just to God’s love and grace for us and our wrongdoings (which can remain in the realm of the intellectual), but to all of life (which must somehow be lived, embodied, experienced). How do I experience extravagant grace in my real life?

It is very difficult to leave my anti-extravagant mindset once it has been ingrained into me. On my conscious level, I am trying to change my beliefs about humanity, about worth, about what life is all about. Consciously, I believe that every life has value, regardless of what it can contribute. Consciously, I believe we are more than human “doings”; I believe we do not have to justify our existence by what we can do or produce. Consciously, I believe that being is enough; that maybe learning how to simply be in this exact moment is everything.

Unconsciously, though, I am still captive to the cultural beliefs I grew up in. I too often measure out love and respect by what I see produced. I work hard and stay busy (or if not legitimately “busy,” at least occupied) because it is the way I know to feel good about myself. I don’t really believe in punishment, but it’s still my first inclination when someone has harmed me or another. I live in a world of proving myself, and I am afraid I judge others by what they can prove, as well.

But while this has been a secure place for me to reside in for much of my life, it does not provide ultimate satisfaction. It does not truly allow me to love: neither myself nor other people. I can say I believe in forgiveness, but until I experience the letting-go of the need to prove and diving in to all that is unmerited, I don’t think I really know forgiveness.

So like I heard a friend express recently, there are phrases and concepts in Christianity that continue to draw me in, even as I push other aspects away. Extravagant grace is a cup of water in a desert, giving me life, challenging me to walk just another mile and trust that more water might be waiting at the end. It feeds my thirsty soul and my inherent need to know that there might be more to all of this than what I can see. That there is more meaning to life than the purpose given by my cultural conditioning. I am challenged to embody just a little bit of extravagant grace, even when it feels impossible and nonsensical and maybe even risky.

cup runneth over

I’m tired of living in my merit-based world. I want to step into a world of extravagant grace, even when I am afraid to do so. And I might not know how to live this way, but I want to learn along the way.

Is anybody with me?