Don't eat yellow snow

Are human beings generally harsh? Some of us strive for excellence and perfection, and while that may motivate us to be the best person we can be, perhaps that can also unintentionally create in us a tendency to be hard-hearted, as we naturally fail time and again to achieve the ideals we've consciously or sub-consciously set for ourselves, and for others.

Yes, we are called to be perfect. But that perfection isn't defined in the sense of being inerrant and flawless. That perfection is in spite of all that. I struggle at times with grasping on to this concept wholly, but the perfection that I think we're called to is to be the best person we can be, with a full use, exercise and practice of our gifts, honing them to their full potential. The beautiful thing about this perfection is that it also makes room for our weaknesses, giving us room to grow - kinda like a pair of shoes bought a couple sizes too big for a growing child - and in recognizing our weaknesses, we meet each other where we're at, and allow the strengths of each other to neutralize the acidity of our weaknesses. Our weaknesses can be a gift and bring us together in community, if we allow them to.

To allow our weaknesses to become gifts, we have to first be humble. Humility in recognizing ourselves as limited beings, who may have ideals and goals for ourselves which have yet to be fulfilled. Humility in realizing that we will not be the best in everything (or anything, really), and being okay with that. Humility in remembering that we are human beings and our lives are meant to be a process, not a point of finality, regardless of how strong or weak we are in something.

We should give credit to our past, for making us who we are today. I have recently started to see more clearly how particular bits and pieces of my past has affected who I am presently, and in all honesty, its a gift. I mean, clarity's the more preferable option than murkiness, is it not? I often have the temptation to get frustrated with the struggles of my past and my present, allowing myself to succumb to feelings of helplessness, focused on the mindset that I need to deal with it on my own to prove to myself that I am strong. At the end of the day, however, it isn't strength that I possess... its merely pride; unhealthy, stubborn pride that proclaims I need no one, I am independent, and its a denial of my weaknesses; an attempt to hide them from the rest of the world with which I am in relationship with. True strength calls for me to trust, to be vulnerable, and to share, for I know I myself desire that from others who I am in relationship with.

So I pray for humility; the trust to be in relationship with others the same way I would like them to be with me; and to remember and accept that I, like everybody else, am a mere human being.

“There is a twilight zone in our hearts that we ourselves cannot see. Even when we know quite a lot about ourselves-our gifts and weaknesses, our ambitions and aspirations, our motives and our drives-large parts of ourselves remain in the shadow of consciousness. This is a very good thing. We will always remain partially hidden to ourselves. Other people, especially those who love us, can often see our twilight zones better than we ourselves can. The way we are seen and understood by others is different from the way we see and understand ourselves. We will never fully know the significance of our presence in the lives of our friends. That's a grace, a grace that calls us not only to humility, but to a deep trust in those who love us. It is the twilight zones of our hearts where true friendships are born.”
― Henri J.M. Nouwen

That summer

That summer, I lay beside the shade of a tree, borrowing the blanket of warmth from the sun to dry off the evidence of the creek where I learned to skip my first rock. Next to me lay a little girl way beyond her years, who spoke empathy and acceptance with her eyes, compassion and love with her touch, and who taught me self-love, innocence and resilience with her laughter and her joy.

That summer, I became one with the earth as Mother Nature embraced me and cleansed me of the filth on my body, taking along my worries and my fears. Underwater, I ceased to hear the sounds and see the sights of the world, leaving me in awe of the earth.

That summer, I watched the red-breasted cardinals gather for their daily peckage of sunflower seeds lovingly put out, their treat-provider smiling silently in appreciation as they approached. I watched the hummingbirds busy themselves with the colorized sugar water, and I remember being struck by how very tiny they were, and how very quick they were.

That summer, I bathed in the rain. We embraced the rain with free spirits and with appreciation, and ran out to greet it with soap and half-naked bodies, seeing it not as a moment to fear the storm, but as a moment to be rejuvenated. We were drenched in joy.

That summer, I learned to listen. I learned to listen to the "grumpy old woman" who frowned more than she breathed. I learned to listen to the woman who screamed and yelled out obscenities; who cried out of loneliness. I learned to listen to the man who reprimanded us for not playing BINGO right. I learned to listen to the sweet woman who welcomed all with a smile and a prayer, and who owned the gift of hospitality like it was her kidney. I listened, and I heard their call to be loved, and their call to be seen for more than they appeared. As I got better at listening, I saw their smiles of being heard, and being loved.

That summer, I learned to be dirty. I learned that the best way to play was to get down on the dirt and not be bothered by it. I learned to run even when I was out of breath, to hold a child even when my arms and shoulders were sore, and to love the feeling of sweat and dirt caked under my fingernails and plastered to my body, if it meant the chance for one more small little hand to hold, the weight of one more child on my shoulders, one more cheek to kiss, and one more person to embrace.

That summer, I fell asleep to laughter, music, and chatter, smiling as widely as I ever could. That was the sound of love. I woke up tired, but wouldn't have it any other way. I was dirty, but my heart was clean.

That summer did not end - it has only gotten better since then. Thank you, Salyersville; thank you, UDSAP.

Sour mangoes in the microwave.

There are times when silence holds a sort of power that speaks a profoundness way beyond one's understanding, sings the sweetest song of a mating wren, embraces stronger than a koala, comforts better than a mother soothing her baby who wakes from a bad dream, and expresses empathy and finds connection as string instruments do in a symphony.


Then we speak, and that silence is reduced to nothingness.

Forgive the outstretched arms

"The poor are your masters, and the more difficult they will be, the more unjust and insulting, the more love you must give them. It is for your love alone that the poor will forgive you the bread you give them." - St. Vincent de Paul.

It is easy to think of the one who gives as being the stronger. After all, that's the way society works, this society that is based on hierarchy and power. We think of ourselves as having matured out of the ancient caste system, but really, have we? Either way, I'm going to take a step away from the possible tangent into politics, and stay on topic. Strength.

I am all-too-familiar with this friend of mine, called Pride. Pride prevents me from allowing me to forgive myself for making a mistake; Pride insists I be a perfectionist to be a perfect human being. Pride turns me beet red at constructive criticism and creates in me the desire to defend myself; Pride promotes self-righteousness, and tempts me to be critical of others to shield my insecurities.

I try not to generalize, but I can be fairly confident in saying that most of us share this one common friend, whether we like him/her or not. Pride is a part of human nature, since it fits into the "rule" of self-preservation. So regardless of what ethnicity or age we are, what economic status we hold, what gender we are, or what our religious affiliation we belong to, we have it.

I think of how much I hate asking for help, and how much I struggle with receiving something from someone graciously, even if its something as simple as a birthday gift, or a compliment.To receive help is difficult. It requires me to swallow my pride in acknowledging that in that moment, for whatever reason, I am incapable of achieving my goal independently. In approaching another human being, I am admitting my human weakness, and confirming the necessity of interdependence. What strength that demands from our proud selves, brought up in this world that says "you get what you work for." As I walk into the office each morning, passing through the people who have been waiting in line, sometimes as early as 5am, I see a kind of strength that I may not necessarily possess.

We are all poor. I think to be poor is "to go without." We may not all be poor economically or financially, but we may be poor in our resources, certain abilities/skills we wish we had, limited pool of knowledge, social life, or maybe our spiritual life. Mother Teresa said, "We think sometimes that poverty is only being hungry, naked and homeless. The poverty of being unwanted, unloved and uncared for is the greatest poverty." I don't think a lonely millionaire is any happier or richer than a penniless beggar who has someone who loves him/her.

I received a lesson in humility this weekend, from one of our clients. Long story short, either the delivery of my statement was poor (which, I realize, is often the case, when I'm in the moment of something and my brain has to catch up with my mouth) and my choice of words inaccurately reflected what I meant to say, or the client misheard, but I ended up offending her. Anyway, the most important thing you need to take away from this is that she said "sometimes, when you're overly nice, you make us feel stupid," or something to that effect. I have always reminded myself of that, afraid to appear patronizing or anything like that. I felt like hitting myself in the head, and I was embarrassed and deeply disappointed with myself... to be honest, I still am. But I appreciated her frankness, and how direct and down-to-earth she was. No horsing around, no beating around the bush - she was genuine, honest, and straight-to-the-point. She also didn't hold a grudge - she ended up inviting us to take a casual and leisure walk with her to her next destination, and we parted ways with a friendly embrace.

The ability to help is given to us by those who allow us to help. They have the power, with which they grant us the grace to be able to reach out. It is a 2-way transaction, and  no one's better than the other. However, the power of the person who asks for help comes too with humility, which is something the giver may not necessarily have.I see great strength in humility, and I am humbled by those who are strong enough to let themselves depend on others, and for those who possess the grace to forgive the hand that has reached out to them.

Irregularly-shaped circles

"We see from where we stand." - Haitian proverb.

Amidst this whirlwind of non-stop action and work to do, my mind and body have been compensated. I made the decision to look up parks and trails around the area, and took off in the hopes of a good run. After getting to the beautiful Eden Park, I realized that I didn't know where to go. I saw that, to my right, I could head to the little pond-ish area, and to my left, I saw an unknown path that seemed to lead me uphill. Curious for adventure of the unknown, and the potential for a beautiful top-of-the-hill experience, I ventured on the obscure path. I got to the top, and was presented with 4 new paths stretched out from the circle I was standing in. I decided to take all 4, starting with the left. I reached the end and turned back on each one, proceeding to take the next. A bridge caught my eye, and I decided to see where it would lead me. I was rewarded with this sight, and this extraordinary plant (at least to me).

Needless to say, I ended up hanging out there for a good amount of time, just being. Chris Rice and the Romans kept me company with their music and voices (thanks very much, guys). As I checked my watch and realized it was about time to go back to the house, I decided to head down to the pond and complete my run there. I got to the pond, and naturally broke out into a anti-clockwise run, not needing to think about which direction to go. At the background of the music in my ears, I could hear the fountain, and the sound of people talking as I passed them. I felt the embrace of the wind as I ran into it, and I smelt the water and the grass.

At some point during the run, I realized that I do enjoy running around some sort of track in a mindless sort of way. While I do enjoy the adventure a new and different path provides, and the shade and enclosure trees in the forest provide, I do welcome the openness, and the regularity. It provides a sense of familiarity, and it allows my mind to rest. For once, I need not think of anything, I need not make any decisions, and I can just keep going, taking a breather out of the whirlwind of life, and appreciating some familiarity and regularity in the world and life that's been changing and evolving every single day. I thought about how important sight is to me, and how the vastness and flatness gives me some comfort in having some control and awareness about where I am, when everything else in life is uncertain and out of my hands. In my life now that I'm unaware of where I am in relation to my target, each lap was a sense of accomplishment; a tangible reminder that I was inching closer to my personal goal. I felt safe, and I felt at peace with the world at that moment in time. As the wind grew stronger, I felt as though nature was embracing and holding me, and I didn't feel quite so alone.

This is a new world, so close but yet so far from what I've gotten so used to. In this irregularly shaped pond, I found some regularity and comfort, and I thank You.

Jogging in the rain

Sometimes, I wonder why I bring a rain coat around with me, since I never use it. Here I am, sitting in Panera, taking advantage of their free wi-fi, with my rain coat literally 10 steps outside the door sitting in my car. I figured I was close enough that if it were to rain, it wouldn't be far enough that it would matter much. Right now, the rain is falling down in sheets, building a 10 step barrier between Cherry Bubi Flaffanagle (yes, I named my car, and the name explanation can come later, its really not that interesting a story), and I.

I have two choices. I could run out into the rain, get drenched, risk getting my laptop wet and ruined, or choose to sit in the comfortable dryness of the restaurant, allowing my baked potato soup to digest, and continue to type this blog entry, in the hopes that the rain would subside. A group of 3 girls have been sitting 2 tables away from me. Two minutes ago, one of them decided it was time to go home, and and decided to risk the rain. She was back before a minute was up, wet, discouraged, and has since opened her books back up again. A glimpse outside into the rain tells me its not letting up for a while. Two joggers just ran by, with no concern for the rain. A guy who works here just ran out into the rain after a customer who forgot something in the restaurant.

My current thought is my relationship with the rain. It has the power to create a barrier within minutes, and sometimes seconds. That barrier is tangible, but yet very much a perception. It does not hold us back physically as much as it does mentally. We can feel it, and it changes us. Some of us enjoy the change - it refreshes us, cleanses us, and creates a tingly sensation on our bodies which remind us how very alive we are. It reminds us of God's multiple blessings, strength and might. With the rain the plants get fed and they grow, and life returns (especially after the very dry summer we've had). Some of us are wary of the change - it discourages us and makes us uncertain, messes up with our appearance, makes us feel cold, and really, what gets me is the wet feet that stay wet (I have a thing about having my feet wet for a prolonged period of time while in contact with footwear). What's beautiful is that the rain welcomes and embraces us, and it allows us to very easily be a part of it.

I am encouraged to view transitions in life the same way I view the rain. Or rather, I would say that I see the similarities between them, and I would like to view them the same way. I do like the rain and I love being in it. What discourages me is getting my glasses wet - vision thus obscured; the whole feet issue; getting my belongings destroyed, and I'll admit, getting my freshly-washed hair not-so-fresh. I've since learned from a particular blog author I read that transitions are what life's all about. We'll never be stagnant in life (or maybe we'll be, but that's a little unfulfilling for me); one transition is followed by another, and another, and another. Be it a new job, a new colleague, a new apartment, a new car, a marriage, a pregnancy, a death.... the list goes on. Each transition is like a mini death to who we were comfortable being before, and a resurrection to who we can be next, with growth and insights accompanying each transition.So is the case with the rain, cleansing us, refreshing us, and giving us more life.

I have 8 minutes till Panera closes. I might as well embrace the rain, be a part of it, enjoy the cooling and tingly sensation, and ignore my discomforts. We can all choose for ourselves what attitude we want to take toward transition. I'll just pray my laptop agrees with the rain too.