Lives in Tension

While at St. Andrew’s Abbey in Valyermo, Californa for a weekend with my seminary class on Henri Nouwen, I was able to spend time in silence and solitude outdoors.  Today it was breezy and for me that was an irritant. There was only one interior space available which we had been in the whole time so that wasn’t where I wanted to go either. I started the experience perplexed. I decided to drive to the local county park called the Devil’s Punch Bowl to see if that would be my “happy spot”. En route just a quarter mile from the Abbey I saw another irritation, a sign that indicated that I was on the San Andreas Fault. I realized that the Abbey itself is likely sitting right on top of it. In 1994, the Northridge earthquake rocked my world. The roof of our home lifted off so that you could see daylight from the front to the rear of the home. We sustained about $30,000 worth of damage to the interior of our home, including the loss of family heirlooms. I was unable to sleep for days and began to experience anxiety attacks. Once again the inability to find solitude and irritation returned.

The route to the park was not clearly marked and at the end of the road I was not sure which way to turn, but decided to go left. As soon as a rounded the first turn in the road I knew I had chosen correctly as I could see the huge white rocks jutting out of the ground at a 45 degree angle from the rolling terrain. These rocks once were underground and as a result to the violence of the fault activity have been forced out of their normal place and now form a natural wonder for people to photograph and to climb on. Upon arrival I noticed the juxtaposition of the landscape, vibrant Joshua trees next to dead mesquite bushes and vibrant Pinyon pines next to dead white branched leafless creosote bushes. Death and life were noticeably in tension with each other. I began to hike a short trail and could not relax and enjoy it as there was the looming possibility of encountering a rattlesnake. I asked God for courage to continue and completed the short trail only encountering one of my favorite birds, a blue jay. You may ask where is your solitude? Where is your silence? But it is there in my mind, in my observation and in my reflection and dialogue with God on my journey to the Devil’s Punch Bowl.

I returned to the Abbey and found a relatively breezeless spot near the pond to sit. I reflect upon the state of my soul. I have been experiencing a great deal of sorrow and challenges. I reflected on the monks bowing from the waist as they speak the names of our God, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. I see the Cottonwood Trees around me bending and bowing in the wind, I see their twigs broken on the ground around me. I reflect on my brokenness and how I am asking God to put it into his service for the comfort of others. I ask for his strength to stand and allow others to observe and explore God’s faithfulness in the midst of my suffering. I wrote the poem in honor of the experience.

 

Lives in Tension

The cactus and the evergreen tree

The San Andreas running through my life

The irritating wind

The restful water

Seasons change

Leaves fall

Twigs lie broken on the ground

How can I let the winds blow?

How can I be broken like a twig?

How can the violence of sorrow shake my life?

Under my feet the ground is shaky.

I cannot stand.

I must bow.

I must let my life be lifted up

With all its shattered angles for all to look upon

In my brokenness you cause me to stand.

Today I gathered the courage to play God.

Today I gathered the courage to play God.

It is one of the few times that I realized that it would take great courage on my part to act like God.

Most days I fancy myself to be in control of my world and have many schemes at work in my mind. I think I know how someone else should live their lives. I think I have all wisdom and insight to direct them accordingly.  I am comfortable with my God-like plans for those around me.  I may even try to orchestrate a few conversations to set my plan in motion.  When it does not go well, I turn to God to complain.  It is in these moments that God asks me, do you really want to be God? Do you think you are up for the job?

Today I am second guessing myself, feeling guilty, feeling powerful, and feeling sad, at the idea that I can play God by ending a life. It is the hardest day in a pet owner’s life, the day you decide your beloved pet is suffering more than they are enjoying life. Today we are putting our beloved Labrador retriever to sleep. I dread being in this God-like position. It is a heavy responsibility, and at the same time, he is just a dog. Yet I am like a God to him. He is dependent on me for his food and his health. I can make significant choices that impact his life. I have been a good and kind God to him, just like my God is good and kind to me. My dog trusts me to do what is best for him.  I know he loves me and has been a loyal companion. He has had his share of mischievous behavior, such as eating food off the counter, letting the cats outside, being stubborn at bath time, and hating to have his nails trimmed. In spite of his flaws, I can say he is a good dog.  I hope that when God decides my day has come that he can say the same about me.

For now, on days like today, I am reminded that I should not so easily fall into my God-like ways, thinking I can possibly do His job, better than He can. I am humbled and weak today. I do not want to play God.

Dear God, Please help me to remember that you are in charge. I only desire to trust you and love you and remain loyal to you. Please forgive me for thinking I can play God in the lives of those I love.  Help me to remember that our lives are in your hands, not mine. Thank you for the wonderful gift of my dog; he has been a good boy.  Our lives are in your hands, where they belong.  I want you to be God today and always.

My Path in the Fog

In the early morning fog I can only see what is right in front of me. In the distance I see forms and shapes of things. The fog causes me to focus on what is closest to me. I must be learn to be content with my limited view. The distant forms are beyond my ability to see or understand. As I get closer to the shapes,  their identity becomes clearer, a redwood tree appears, then a sycamore.  There is a peaceful quietness on a foggy morning, which I find restful and calming. My limited view reminds me that this moment, this place, is all I need to see and know. The forms and shapes ahead will reveal themselves in their time. For now I see what God wants me to see and it is enough.