“as the essence of courage is to stake one’s life on a possibility, so the essence of faith is to believe that the possibility exists.” William Salter

Until today, I have never given too much thought to the Saturday of Easter weekend.  In Christian traditions all the weight is on Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Saturday was a moment of limbo, a time of sorrow, fear and the unknown.  It was hope lost, and a great void between what had been, and the uncertainty of what was to come. The pathway was suddenly dark. We don’t talk about Easter Saturday, yet all of us will spend time there.  It’s the fraught stillness between the hosanna and the hallelujah.

It’s when we suddenly notice that there is no place for us, this time, with the hopeful, happy people on their way to Sunday.

It’s when we realize we need a place to grieve and tend to our broken hearts.  It’s where we retreat to heal, mend, forgive, detox, grow, engage and rid ourselves of bags packed full of things too heavy to carry any longer.  It’s when we admit that we may not know what we expected, but it wasn’t this.  It’s the place where emptiness and weariness win for a time.

It’s a place that frustrates and frightens some of your people, because you retreat there and they fear you will never emerge.  They want you to snap out of it or get over it. They want you back in all the familiar ways.  But it’s not a process to be rushed.     

Easter Saturday is important and necessary.  It’s where the broken blind allows the possibility of light.  Giving space to our aching grief, longings and losses, is crucial if we ever hope to rise again.  That which we don’t acknowledge changes us anyway. Naming it without shame, and processing it without time limits allows the change to be redemptive.

There is tremendous power in dark and nebulous Saturdays.  They are a place to rest, to recover, but not to live.  The point is holy transformation. It matters not whether you rise, emerge or claw your way out.  What matters is, eventual renascence. Saturdays were made for this, however long it takes. 

Resurrection is possible. Every week has a Sunday.  You will know which one is yours.

There is a defiant daffodil in full bloom at the end of my driveway telling winter and despair to stand down.

There is a baby, growing and forming in the womb of my niece, unaware of anything other than the reassuring beat of her mama’s heart and the fluid that protects and sustains her life.

There is a pandemic threatening the world.

There are people setting alarm clocks, knowing in the morning they will stand in their showers afraid, and then they will dry off and don clothes and go to jobs that will risk their lives –  and they’ll do it again and again, for as long as it takes.

There are families sleeping in and waking up in a never ending Saturday – doing chores, watching movies, coloring pictures and learning things about one another that they otherwise would not have known.

There are extraordinary souls emerging from ordinary lives.

There are husbands and wives with nowhere to run from a relationship that had flatlined while they were too busy and distracted to attempt CPR.

There are lovers rediscovering why they love who they love.

There is too much quiet and too much noise.

There are helpers spending endless hours sewing and researching and cooking and  experimenting and discovering like their lives depended on it….for people whose lives really do.

There are workers who have worn the same uniform their entire career and are only now hearing others say, I see what you do and it matters. Thank you. 

There are people getting married in the street, playing sports out the window, creating art and sharing music and finally learning the names of their long time neighbours.

There are moms and dads who no longer have the answers, watching their children sleep; the fear and prayers for these precious lives rising to heaven on each small breath.

There are bodies of water running clear and skies whose stars are suddenly, noticeably, brilliant.

There are people fevered and sick, gasping for air and dying alone.

There are loved ones unable to reach, to hold, to say goodbye.

There are plans being cancelled, milestones uncelebrated,  funerals unattended, lessons untaught, businesses going under;  bills, 

                                                    bills

                                                                                       bills 

                                                                                                         and no cheque.

There are triumphant people recovering, surviving.

There is time to dream and plan and wonder. 

There is an opportunity to reminisce and regret.

There are lives to honour, appreciate, and remember.

There is heartache, heartbreak and hearts that are listening for the first time in a long time.

There is fear, there is love, there are hands outstretched in need, in greed, in abundant giving.

There is uncertainty –  and choices to be made about who we will be in the moment, in the aftermath and in the hereafter.

There will be lasting trauma for exhausted heroes who made desperate decisions about the lives and deaths of their patients.

There will be a season of transition.

There will be miracles.

There will be grace.

There will be fear and doubt and bitterness that lasts.

There will be ferocious faith.

There is light, there is darkness.

It has always been so.

We’re about to go through some hard times. I know that because yesterday I watched the news for too many hours and listened to enough gloom to make me panic.  I had to turn off the TV and search for some faith based direction. I felt led to a particular article, the contents of which confirmed that guidance to me.  Although I did not utter any words aloud I felt that the concerns of my heart were heard and comfort was provided.

There are some who consider people of faith to be naive and brain washed, unable to think for themselves.  Those people have been on my mind today. There are as many ways to approach a problem as there are people.  There is no one size fits all. How we solve and survive the issues that confront us will be done in a way that fits in with our beliefs, values and our experiences.  I do not presume to adjudicate anyone’s methods. I just simply do not remember a time when I did not temper my own understanding of the mysteries and hardships of life with the hope and belief that there was something grander going on.  That, then, is my north star. Without it, I do not know how to navigate. And so I am curious about those who move through life under only their own guidance. Especially in times like these.

Because if there is no bigger purpose, no reason for any of it, then much of life is just hard.  We’re born, we struggle, there are moments of pleasure and joy, we struggle, have joy, and then we die. There is no connection or explanation for any of it.

I’m an introvert.  An observer and an overthinker.  I’m a cynic and a bit of a jerk. I am not a joiner.  So honestly, sometimes religion is a lot of effort for me. Way too peopley. Lots of meetings.  Sometimes it’s too much.

But I do like God.  I like that basically he says, you must love me, more than you love yourself,  and you have to love your neighbour at least as much as you love yourself.  And then if you trust me, I’m going to take the wheel and take you someplace better than any place you’ve ever been.  There will be some beautiful and terrible stops along the way. Turbulence is guaranteed. But while we’re getting there, you can rest in the fact that you are loved. That you are worth the sacrifice of my son. That this world and everything in it was made for your benefit.

 So, while it doesn’t cure me of being a jerk, it does make me try harder not to be one.  It gives me love and compassion for others and a knowledge that we are all connected. It makes me concerned with outcomes. It gives me hope and something noble to strive for.  Sometimes it gives me someone to be mad at. Often it gives me strength beyond my own. I have a reliable partner. I am assured that I matter and so does everyone else. I know that my actions and behavior are consequential and it gives me resilience when giving up would be much easier. Mostly, it answers the question, what’s the point?

What we’re looking at in the near future is daunting. Everyone will have different mountains to climb. Families may face hardships they could never have anticipated and for which they are unprepared. It looks pretty bleak. I know in the coming weeks I will falter. I freely admit I can’t do it alone. There is a quote that says, “Tell your mountains about your God”. I know which one is bigger and more formidable. For anyone who has gone through high school (and life) with a sibling that was big enough and bad enough to protect your flank, you know you’ve walked your walk with a certain swagger. It might not have been swagger you’ve earned, but it’s swagger that was only a phone call away. That’s how faith makes me feel. Like a can of whoop-ass is at the other end of a prayer.

That holy whoop-ass may come in many forms.  It might be in the ability to be stronger, kinder, more innovative and more resilient than I have ever been before.  It could be in the blessing of forgiveness and grace. It might come in the form of loving correction. It could be healing, for myself or for someone I love. It might be protection over those I hold most dear, or vulnerable strangers I barely know at all. Or possibly, in the sweet surrender from having to know and do everything. It’s in the peace whispered to a wearied, battered soul.

You might find it in a quiet grove or on a beach or in front of a mountain. It might come at the end of a long dark night and it might come in a different form than you asked it to. It might take awhile before it looks like a blessing.

 It might come from Amazon right to your self isolated door.

Maybe it’s a job, a cheque, groceries, an unexpected moment of communion or kindness, or the opportunity to help someone else. 

It might be a vaccine.

I’ve never counted but apparently the term, “fear not,” is in the King James version of the Bible 365 times. Doesn’t that seem perfect? It’s just enough to move forward one day at a time.  

Uncharted territory.  We watch and wait. The world is different today than it was yesterday and it’s uncomfortable.  We are losing normal. This is not our first experience with this.  We have been here before. Each time there is a disaster and the devastation plays out in it’s stark reality, we’re reminded of the same things.  One of them is the fact that if we have any sense of control in our lives, it’s an illusion at best. If we feel powerful or important, nature has a way of reminding us of how irrelevant we can be.   Be it earthquakes, tsunamis, terrorism, fires, floods or hurricanes, we are reminded of all that can be taken from us in a heartbeat.  

This time, it’s something much smaller and yet equally as powerful as Mother Nature at her maleficent best. A virus, invisible and microscopic is changing our lives.

Apparently, most of us will survive it’s invasion.  Tragically, some will not. The world is reacting in an abundance of caution.  I picture us and the virus the way two heavyweight boxers circle each other before one strikes the first blow.  We are poised and waiting, muscles tensed, hopeful that we are in good enough shape to hold our own.

In these moments I feel small.  I also feel foolish. I think about all the planning, hard work, and the sense that I am at the helm of my life.  It works most of the time. Sometimes, it’s even true. And realistically, we have to plan and set goals and try to have some command over the events of our lives.  There would be way too much chaos, unpaid bills, unfinished projects and disappointed people scattered over the landscape of life if we didn’t. We have to live and follow the rules to a degree.  We have to pay the required prices for those things we consume. Unless we want to walk the planet like a nomad, we have to run on the hamster wheel. Basic necessities are non negotiable. So we hope for good health, strive for education and a good job to provide a home, food, water, insurance, heat, lights, transportation.  All the things that make life manageable and infinitely more pleasant. Attaining these things can provide a sense of accomplishment, joy and satisfaction.

But then somewhere along that path there’s a kool-aid stand offering large glasses of, it’s not enough.   You need newer, bigger, faster, shinier, designer, more high tech.  And we belly up to the kool aid bar and keep asking for refills. We wonder why we’re stressed, exhausted, disconnected, lonely, and broke.  And we never get off the hamster wheel. The machinations of the world, especially the advertising world and social media, are committed to keeping us running.

And now this.  A crisis which is forcing the world to reevaluate.  It’s as unknown to most of us as walking on the moon.  What do you mean, stop, slow down, stay home, isolate? We’ll lose our place in the race!  For many, it’s terrifying. Besides the deaths, the global and economic implications mean immediate, and possibly catastrophic, financial uncertainty and hardship.  This is real and needs to be recognized. People will suffer.

It’s possible that this will go on long enough to force some into evaluating what is actually necessary to sustain their lives.  How much is need, and how much is excess? How much of ourselves have we mortgaged? Have we invested more into building our RRSPs than we have into building our character or our families? Have we relinquished our significance in the world to the pursuit of insignificant things? How much of our peace of mind and our enjoyment of life are we willing to sacrifice on the altar of never enough?

Stop, slow down, stay home.  It’s a chance to answer those questions. It’s an opportunity to reacquaint yourself with your people, even if presently we may be required to do that through technology.  Spend a minute getting reacquainted with yourself. Just exhale. Care enough about humanity to do the right thing. Let financial insecurity give you new eyes. Take stock.  What is essential? What can be sold, downsized, reused. What do you have that could help someone else? Hold space and listen to the silence. We all have an inner voice that tells us the truth.  How long has it been since you heard yours? Is your life the life you want, or what the world tells you that you want? Are you the man/woman that you set out to be?

Yes.  This is uncharted territory.  At this moment there is more uncertainty than facts.  In the grand scheme of things, it might be a blip on the radar. We might not even totally get off the wheel before the machine rights itself and powers up again.  Or. It might be like a devastating earthquake that disrupts our lives and leaves them different than they were before. This might seem like a disaster or it might feel like a blessing.  At this early stage we might not even have had time to process what it feels like, other than crazy. 

All I know is that it feels like a reset.  Like a child must feel when they go to sleep in the car and wake up somewhere they have never been before. It takes a minute to take it all in.  At this juncture we can see what’s in place that works well, and use it as a microscope to focus in on what’s broken and needs repair. Anything that causes this much upheaval provokes a myriad of reactions and solutions. Ultimately, we will move forward based on what we value most.  Remembering that we belong to each other is paramount. Remaining open and courageous will take us to tomorrow and beyond.

Mary Oliver wrote, “Someone I loved once gave me a box of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too was a gift.”  This gift, if it is one, might have layers and layers to unwrap. Some will do it with trembling hands, some with grief stricken hearts and some will sink into the opportunity ready to begin it’s unveiling.

 
“Tikkun Olam” is a phrase and a purpose used by Jewish denominations which means, to repair the world.  It is an aspiration to behave and act constructively and beneficially.  Whether it’s about our own world, as citizens of the world, or both, it is an aspiration worthy of this extraordinary moment.

“The soul that sees beauty may sometimes walk alone”.   Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

        

This week I have used the word “beautiful” as a description for people, nature, furniture, emotion and a storefront parking space.  

It might be possible to overuse the word.  But, finding and appreciating beautiful things is a practice worthy of repetition.

Theocritus said, “Beauty is a delightful prejudice”. That speaks to me in a way that the tired “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” does not.  However, they are essentially the same statement. Much of what we see and find beautiful is not appreciated by others. Our definition of beauty is shaped by a lifetime of experiences and learned preferences. It’s subjective and dependent on the observer’s interpretations and biases.

But agreeing with either adage gives the viewer enormous power. Much can be disregarded when based on such arbitrary judgement.

There is a philosophical question that asks “if a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” There are opinions and facts and science to argue if it does or if it doesn’t.

I contend that some things are simply beautiful, regardless of our ability to see, acknowledge or appreciate.

There are parts of the world that I have never been and will probably never see.  The fact that I can’t attest to the grandeur of those places doesn’t make them less grand or appealing. Being asleep when the sun rises and sets does not negate the miracle of another day.  A desire to have, or not have children does not make the sound of a child’s laughter or the softness of a baby’s skin less glorious. The magnificence of human struggle and accomplishment is not diminished by one’s lack of emotional intelligence to understand or appreciate it. The worth of a soul is not determined by another’s ability to recognize it. 

This is not to say that everything in life is, or can be made, beautiful.  There is evil and cruelty that pretty words, desperate longing or brilliant colors cannot redeem.    

But there is so much more that is beautiful.  Unmistakably beautiful. The breathtaking kind of beauty that hits us all at once and immediately.  Or, that which develops gradually like an old polaroid picture coming into focus before our eyes. If we are open to it, it’s everywhere.

Sadly, there is beauty around us every day that we fail to see.  We miss the joy that can be found in the minutiae of the mundane. There is nobility and value in people we dismiss as unworthy of our attention or admiration. Love is rejected or dismissed with little awareness of the precious offering that it is.  We run from tears and trauma, neglecting to participate in the miraculous healing that turns gaping wounds into profound battle scars. There is pain that blinds us to the exquisiteness of sacrifice, hard work and grief. 

Operating from a sense of lack does not mean there is no abundance. Our denial of it cannot erase it’s existence. It’s all there waiting to be seen and feasted upon.

Having eyes that see is an act of intention and bravery.  It is a willingness to check your “beholder” and challenge it’s prejudice and pain. It’s the generous acknowledgement of experience beyond your own.  It is being teachable and humble and wide open. It’s knowing that ease doesn’t equal appeal. It’s determining that beauty is a force independent of your opinion and interpretation – a force capable of seeping into empty spaces and filling them to bursting. And besides storefront parking, there is nothing more beautiful than that.

        

I’ve been thinking lately about the concept of truly living into the space we occupy in this life and what that really means.  There are people – we know them, we might be them – who seem to fold in on themselves, somehow apologizing through their actions, body language or demeanor, for the person they are in the world.  The too tall, too large, too loud person, who slouches, covers and tries to take up less physical space. The person who announces their self imposed insignificance by the way they enter and exit a room.   And those who are shy, awkward, and feel undeserving somehow of love, attention, grace and the good and bad they accumulate along the way.

We know about the others too.  You might be one. They own the room. When they arrive, we feel as though we were waiting for them, unaware until that moment that they are what was missing from the moment. The ones who expect people to be happy to see them, to like and admire them, to enjoy their company.  The ones who don’t apologize for what they need or want in life.

I think nowadays they call it swag.

Perhaps, because of the recent tragedy and the focus on his life, thinking about swag makes me think of Kobe Bryant.  Larger than life. Not just because of his celebrity, but because of his relentless pursuit of excellence and his insistence on living life on his terms.  Not a perfect man to be sure. His failings were well documented. But his greatness and tenacity were equally in view. He earned his place. He demanded his due. He was blessed with success but it was not merely a gift.  He was uncompromising in its pursuit. And, he also gave back, distributing his talent, his celebrity, his money and his megawatt smile back into a world that loved him. His untimely death and that of his child and the others is an unspeakable tragedy. But, Kobe lived.  He lived a great big life and missed out on little while he claimed his space on this planet. 

We should all aspire to such a life.  We all deserve a life just as big and rich whether we believe it or not.

But there is a price, and there is work to be done to get it.

Even Kobe didn’t get it for free.  But he never doubted he deserved it.

And there’s the real challenge.  We must overcome what we’ve been taught about ourselves and what we’ve accepted in regards to others opinions about our worthiness. We need to account for our own apathy and our self inflicted limitations. Even harder, is how to prevail over the very real disadvantages that may have sapped our imagination and stripped us of our ability to dream.  And then. Then, we must subjugate a stingy society that wants to decide and mete out what we’re entitled to.

It’s a lot.  And it’s on us.

But – living small serves no one, benefits no one.  Accepting less than all we are capable of becoming, is the squandering of a life.

My kids say I am one of the most risk averse people they know.  I say that risk averse people don’t have children. There is nothing riskier to your heart and soul than releasing your children into the world.  But they are correct in that I am cautious and believe adventure is best enjoyed when one is prepared for it. A big life doesn’t necessarily mean a spontaneous life.  And adventure doesn’t mean you can’t plan. Living fully is still possible wearing a life jacket or a helmet, right?!  I’m working on it, ok.

I fully embrace that I am capable of more, that God has bigger plans for me than I do and that I am deserving of whatever that is and wherever it takes me.

I am not a large person.   My physical presence belies the amount of space I want to live into.  I want there to be a record of me being here beyond the dates in the census. I want to become everything I am meant to be , and I want to choose – or be led to  – whatever that is. I don’t want to leave here with regrets.

There are ways to do it.  There are books, classes, podcasts,  and movies for inspiration. There are people like Kobe and his mamba mentality to emulate.  But to really inhabit a big life, I need a magnificent example.  

So, I’m talking about Jesus.  Because there is swag. And there is walking on water swag.

 With the utmost respect for this sacred story I want to ask that you consider a few things.  That day, that miraculous day, Jesus was tired. The day before, he found out his friend had been beheaded.  He attempted to go off and be alone but ended up teaching and feeding 5000 people. So, he was the day after cooking Thanksgiving dinner, tired.  Tie -errred.  Around this time in his life not everyone wanted to hear what he had to say.  Some just showed up for the refreshments and the medical benefits. Some thought he was a braggart and a liar. Some folks were conspiring behind his back.  He had one outfit.  He had, like, 12 friends and one of them was  a frenemy. He had to walk or row a boat everywhere.  Everything wasn’t really perfect. On that day, he sent his friends on ahead on a little cruise so he could regroup and chat with his Dad.  And then a nasty storm came through and he started to worry about his friends. And he figured he better go and check on them because, well, that was the kind of friend he was.  I don’t think he spent too much time even thinking about how he was going to get from where he was to where his friends were. At least it’s not recorded in the story if he did. He just started walking.  Jesus knew who he was.  He knew who had his back.  He knew what his capabilities were.  He knew his job. He knew his heart. He knew before he ever stepped off the sand that the waves would get him wet –  but hold firm beneath his feet. He could see the distance between himself and the others. He was not afraid. He did not doubt.  He lived into that moment and negated the space between water and land.

I get that he had a few advantages.  And I get that not everyone believes that story. And if all you can do is admire the imagination of the storyteller,  it’s still a phenomenal example of knowing who you are and believing in the possibilities. And it’s a visual to help you step out into your own storm.

The only person we really know inside out, is ourselves.  If we can reject all the other voices that shout out the reasons it’s not possible, then we can start to fully occupy our life.  If we can get to a place where we trust our own abilities, if we can strengthen our willingness to work and persevere, if we see challenges as merely shifting terrain and if we know who has our back, then we can step out onto the water of our life.  We can stand steady in our own storms. We can be sure that there is so much more possible than what we even imagine. We deserve to be here and we can stand in that holy space. And then, with confidence, we can extend our reach to those who are afraid and don’t yet believe it for themselves.

Why have I decided to blog?  I read once that if you desire to write, and put pen to paper, that you are a writer.  It’s such a presumptuous thought. In my mind, a writer is someone who has published something, a masterful wordsmith who writes beautiful sentences that resonate and touch something in you that you recognize in your soul. A person with a fresh perspective whose words cause you to look at something in a whole new way.  Or those who can cause you to neglect all other things because they have pulled you into their story and you don’t want to look for a way out until you get to the glorious end. That’s a writer. 

 I am in awe of the people who can do that.  I admire genius.  I respect mastery in any endeavor and I appreciate the hard work and the passion that goes into chasing and polishing whatever it is that you have unearthed as your gift.  

If I could choose a talent, I would be a singer.   To be able to sing and raise people up with my voice!  That would be a dream. But that is not in my skill set.  Not even a little. 

 But, from the time I learned to pen my first poem, I have been writing.  Mostly, it was a way for a sensitive kid, raised by a boot camp kind of dad, to be able to own, express and explore my feelings in a way that didn’t make anybody mad.  Your journal or scraps of paper never accuse you of being a “bawl baby” or threaten to give you a reason for your tears. So I wept onto paper. And I raged onto paper. I said silly, ridiculous things onto paper.  And committed love and plans and dreams into journal after journal. 

 I sometimes wonder what will happen when I die and my poor kids find all that paper.    Over the years, of course, much of it has been lost but for what remains, I hope, if they choose to read it, that they will remember that I have never claimed to be anything but a work in progress. Perhaps I should just have a big bonfire before I die.  They might just have their own bonfire. (And if they do that, I hope they’ll do it on a beach and make smores over the dying embers.) 

 I’ll work out what to do about all that one day, if I have enough warning beforehand.  

In any event, mostly, my writing has just been for me so it didn’t matter if it was good enough, or if anyone else thought it was worthwhile or if I had any talent at all. 

A famous quote written by the American novelist Flannery O’Connor says,  “I write because I don’t know what I think until I read what I say”.  That has often been true for me too.  I have discovered in the act of writing, that just beginning to put words on paper starts a flow of things you didn’t know you knew, or felt.   So, I have continued to write, to conspire in the surprise and discovery. 

Sometimes I share what I write with others and occasionally I have been encouraged to pursue it in some way.

Could I be a writer?  Do I have anything to say?  Am I brave enough to put those precious words and thoughts out there, subject to scrutiny and criticism? (not really). 

Who will I write for? 

 I have, on occasion,  been given the opportunity to teach or speak to a group.  I cannot do that without a script, so I write out what I’m going to say exactly.  Even the jokes that should just roll out naturally. Public speaking doesn’t scare me if I can prepare meticulously beforehand.  But always, when I am in that position, during my preparation, my goal and prayer is that whatever I teach or speak about will find its way to the one heart that most needs the message. 

 I feel like one thought or a collection of thoughts can change, lift, heal or touch something in someone, and do some good.  One thought might cause a small change in someone’s mind or way of thinking.  And if it can change a mind or opinion, it might eventually change a heart. And then, possibly a life.  

Expressed shared experience can make a person feel less alone.  A fresh idea can help someone who is struggling or lost to find their way.  I am a voracious reader and a curious learner/listener and that has often been the case for me.  

So that is my hope.  That is why I’ve decided on “writing for one” as the focus for my blog. Perhaps I might one day write something beautiful, impactful or inspiring to someone else.  Or maybe what I write won’t matter to anyone but me.
 It could be that the life I change might be my own.  But even that is an adventure with hope and value. And so on those terms, I have always been a writer.