It's not about me

With a few hours having elapsed since Miss Moira's recital, I've had time to digest this whole 'dance' thing. Honestly, I'm so damn happy dance is done. I have deeply, overwhelmingly dreaded Mondays for the past 8 months. The crazy get-off-work-early-to-get-Moira-out-of-school-early-and-drive-30-miles-to-the-studio-and-hurry-up-and-change-into-tights-and-leotards-and-then-DANCE chaos fried me every friggin' week! I hated it! But I kept doing it because she said she wanted to, and Mo hasn't had the easiest of times in her short 8 years.

Being born with a cleft lip and palate, she's suffered through a few surgeries and has another big one coming up in June. So dance was something special and extra, just for her. But dance wasn't something I would have chosen for her. As previously indicated, I was hoping for the more outdoorsy kind of team stuff like the soccer and t-ball she tried and didn't like. If you knew me, you'd know I'm not a tutu kinda mom. Unless of course my son's wearing it, that's a different story. (Go with your cross-dressin' bad self, Mac Daddy!)

But whether she dances or doesn't, it's not about me. Rather, it's about giving my kids the chance to try different things. I'd hope that through some of this trial and error, my kids will find things they have passions for, but if they don't, who gives. Again, if people want to judge me, the line starts with the crack of my ass. And speaking of ass, there's a lot of it out there, especially in the parenting world.

I am so lucky to live in the time of reality tv. "Lucky?" you question. Yes, because I get to see just how whack many parents are over their children's entertainment futures. There was the horrible Bravo show, "Showbiz Moms & Dads," Vh1's really mental, "I Know My Kid's a Star," and most recently, on Bravo's "The Real Housewives of New York City," there was the absurdly ignorant Ramona who pushed her lovely Avery into modeling and acting when the kid said she valued school above all that. (Talk about taking a hint from our youth!) These are individuals who really need to not have children.

What I gain from watching these train wrecks, however, is how much my children's successes and failures are NOT ABOUT ME! Do I want my daughter and son to excel and achieve and succeed and be tops in whatever they do? You bet your ass! But I know from my own experience that life doesn't come with a rewind button, my parents could not have done anything different to effect the way I turned out. That means they get just as much credit for the good stuff I've done (and I've done well) as for the many fuckups I've incurred (we lost count long ago).

So while I continue to trudge the road of parenthood, I know that at any given moment, I'm doing the best I can and my children suffer those consequences. Sometimes my best is pretty damn good. Sometimes it's piss poor. But so far, I've got two fabulous kids who contribute through friendships to the world around them. And is that my doing? Some would argue, "Yes," but I reason that even at ages 8 and 5, they are continually taking on more responsibility for who they are becoming. I simply allow opportunities for their growth.

So was dance an opportunity for growth? I don't know, I think more time needs to pass before that verdict becomes clear. I know it's something I'm still not too fond of and Moira, admittedly, isn't that crazy over, either. As of today, she does not want to take dance again. (Cool!)

Matthew 11: I don't have the power

The first half of this chapter honors John the Baptist. After Jesus gives his army their orders, the imprisoned John starts getting word of Jesus' activities so John sends out a message, asking if these are true or if another messiah should be sought after. Then we are given Matthew 11:4-6, "Go back to John and tell him what you have heard and seen--the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised to life, and the Good News is being preached to the poor."

I had heard these words spoken by another prophet who used them to show how powerful a dozen steps are, and I smiled when I read them because I do believe that by finding some power by which I could live, I'm not nearly as sick today as I was a few years back. Is it because of these words? Maybe indirectly.

So Jesus honors John by telling the masses about him and his faith. This shows me that even Jesus knew there are many prophets, many messengers, and I, in my feeble history, am aware of such teachers in our present day. However, I believe that it is not my purpose to follow another person's path. In general, I follow, but specifically, nope.

I believe there are so many prophets so that I can look at each of their experiences and glean from them what will help me to progress along my own spiritual journey. For me, this bible read is not so that I can become a Christian, but so that I may further develop and understand the spiritual guidance offered that so many people throughout the ages, from all walks of faith, have utilized to strengthen their own walks.

And maybe its the power of suggestion, maybe it's just voodoo, but my walk is being strengthened. Every time I sit down and read, I'm reminded that I don't have the power. And I'm okay with that today. I am not powerful enough to handle all the things that make up an ordinary life. Take the last 11 months: 2 of my grandmothers died within 2 weeks of each other, we had to put down our 11-year-old hunting dog, my office was destroyed when a building collapsed on it, my dad was diagnosed with cancer, and just yesterday? I came home to find our farm dog, my big, giant meatball Zeke, dead. (He's pictured down in the 'Blessings All Around' entry.) His passion for chasing milk trucks and stock trailers apparently caught up with him.

And so I take great comfort in the final verses of this chapter because I lack the power, the ability to handle and deal and cope with all this in a way that both honors these experiences and allows me to be effective with those around me who are also hurting. Because guess what? It's not about ME!

"Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens,

and I will give you rest.

Take my yoke upon you.

Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart,

and you will find rest for your souls.

For my yoke is easy to bear,

and the burden I give you is light."

Matthew 10: Not for the lily livered

With an army of 12, Jesus sends his mates on a mission of sharing, healing, blessing, etc., but warns them that this will be no easy task. Most people aren't going to dig the message and there will be times their asses will get handed to them.

Two verses in this chapter jumped out at me because of direct experience I've had with each. The first comes when Jesus is sharing about the hardships they'll likely face. In verses 10:19-20, Jesus reminds his buds not to fret over defending themselves--"God will give you the right words at the right time. For it is not you who will be speaking, it will be the Spirit of your Father speaking through you."

Ever watched someone talk and "felt" them? I believe those are times when God is speaking through them. And that's powerful stuff. But I don't think my God can use me as a channel if I'm full of shit. And I get that way, a lot.

I've been blessed to have teachers in my life who remind me to pray unceasingly. Now, I'm no pro at this and, to be honest, at times it's been a drag. Even now, I'm still not willing to devote my life to prayer and study, but I will say this, my prayer has been more frequent and my study, not so dusty.

But this effort is in opposition to how our culture would have us live: forever at the Palms in Vegas! There's the Botox, the credit line, the personal trainer, the mansion, the this, the that. But the spiritual life, the life I think Jesus encouraged others to embrace, is far different. It honors the cycles of life, it fears nothing, it trusts in the Eternal, it's rooted in the unseen and shows itself in the small things. Quite opposite from my programming.

So I can totally understand Jesus' warnings. And, given my desire to know more about this spiritual life, but unwillingness to delete E!News from my daily DVR lineup, it drives home the point of the second verse, 10:39, "If you cling to your life, you will lose it; but if you give up your life for me, you will find it."

I know there's greater peace on the spiritual path, but my old ideas and desires die hard. The beautiful thing, though, is that when I watch E!News, I tend to feel like a big boil of puke. In fact, I'm deleting more recordings than I am watching them. And I do have faith that one day, I'll willingly delete the timer altogether. It's not that some vengeful deity is a fun-hater and wants to see me all monastic and stiff. But by experiencing more of the 4th dimension of existence, I'll find much of that pop culture crap unappealing.

You know, I never thought I'd compare spiritual growth to my E!News fix. Go figure.

Blessings all around

There are some weird things happening and I have no doubt of their spirituality, so I must pause and share it.

With my 2 children yesterday, we sat creating wooden dinosaurs out of really cheap pieces of crap from China. One child is painting her 21,000 pieces different colors with stripes and polka dots while the other is opting to glue and erect his 21,000 pieces prior to painting. And I'm much involved in the effort and finally tell my husband, "You're up and I'm out!" He laughed and said, "You might want to read Job." Huh? He tells me Job is about patience and he said he was seeing it in me. Me . . . patient. Whoa.

I didn't read Job, opting rather to take on a very thorough cleaning of my detritus-filled car that even the dogs wouldn't enter. And in doing this job, I noticed that it wasn't horrible. Normally I HATE cleaning my car, which is why it gets in that state in the first place. But during this cleaning, I found myself simply plodding through each task and it really didn't feel like it took that long. And it didn't piss me off, and it looks really fabulous! So did I lose myself in the moment, in the Now? I was conscious throughout the cleaning and even asked myself different times, "Why isn't this sucking?" I was aware of my ego trying to slide that lovely bag over my head, wanting me to get all snarky and yucko over one of my most hated jobs, but I just didn't go there. Whoa.

And today, I left for work and EVERYTHING was so sparkly and clean and shimmering and alive. And I hadn't even gotten into my vehicle yet. While driving to work, I listened to the Pray-as-you-go Podcast and felt it more than contemplated it. And marveled at how beautiful the world is today.

I am very blessed, and pass these blessings on to all of you.

Matthew 9: J.C.'s among us?

So the miracles continue--Jesus cures paralysis, death, blindness, and possession. But did these really happen? I do believe a miracle began in me when I got sober, but I think people were put in my life to ignite a faith that recovery was possible, not because some holy man touched my head. And let's assume Jesus was for real. First off, those crowds must have been NUTS! As I read this chapter, not only did I found myself asking what it would feel like to be in the presence of such a being, but remembering when I have been.

A person I still hold in very high esteem gave me spiritual walking papers awhile ago. I'd gotten caught up in the messenger--who this person was and their deep understanding of spirituality--and lost sight of my responsibility, that I needed to continue to grow. While something was stirring inside me, the spiritual directions I'd been hearing for a few years no longer drove me to action. I'd grown stagnant in my relationship with my Creator and the relationships around me were crumbling. And this person I'd admired told me he had nothing left to give me.

This experience, while painful beyond description, was one of the biggest gifts given me. I was forced to find a God of MY understanding. I could not depend on another human being to get me well and out of the psychological/spiritual mess I was in. Like some of the people in this gospel, I was without human aid, pretty much fucked! No one was going to save my ass, I had to act or I know I would've died.

Are there J.C.'s among us? As I reflect on the people who have been put in my life, I have no doubt there are truly holy, deeply sacred beings walking this Earth. But they do not cross my path for me to worship! They are placed along my path so that I may learn of their experiences and understandings, and in doing so, become more aware of my own spiritual sense.

I know now that I may not be able to absorb one person's teachings until long after we part. The point is, I have learned that the universe provides me with everything I need. I don't have to wait for a Messiah to cure me, everything I desire is already deep within me. And those who I call 'teacher' help me to find it, provide me the encouragement to go within and discover what Mr. Wilson calls, "the Great Reality deep down within us."

Matthew 8: The Green Mile

Reading Matthew 8, I got a mental picture of Michael Clark Duncan's 'John Coffey' healing the enlarged prostate of Tom Hanks' 'Paul Edgecomb.' I wouldn't say "The Green Mile" is a favorite of mine, but there's something about the story . . . the holiness of Coffey and the supernatural healing powers of him. As I'm thinking about it, I'm sure reviewers compared the wrongly judged Coffey and his execution to the life and death of J.C. long before now, but it's new to me.

Are there J.C.'s among us? I don't know. I've heard of mystical healing, but I've never experienced it myself. And I don't believe in praying for it, either. I don't believe in a God that selects one man over another, letting one human recover and another perish. I don't believe that if I pray hard enough, my dad's cancer will vanish, or that if he dies, it would be because I didn't petition the Heavens with enough gusto or belief.

Just like I cannot take away my childrens' pain, my Creator cannot reverse mine. I know people who claim God healed them, cured their cancer, took away their disease. But me? I have had no such earth quakey-like happenings, but I will say I've experienced pronounced change subtly, over a period of time. I'm sure if someone compared today's Me to the Me of say, 7 years ago, they'd see a pretty miraculous difference. Did I make that happen? Doubtful, there's no way in hell I could've lived any differently.

But today's reality is pretty different then the reality I was in a mere 7 years ago. I am living an amazing life today because something happened . . . something woke me up . . . something gave me the strength to grab hold of a different mode of operation. And as a result of this "something," the leprosy of my soul continues to decrease. Did I do that? Could I have effected that kind of change? Not a chance.

Hmmm. So maybe J.C. did do that stuff, maybe Chapter 8 isn't a bunch of hooey. Weird.

Matthew 7: The foundation of salivation

So earlier today, while getting my oil changed at my man Bob's #1 Stop, I picked up one of several bibles he has laying in the waiting area (he's big into Christ, pimping the Jesus fish on his ads). The one I chose was a weathered illustrated, almost pocket-sized edition. And I read Matthew Chapter 7. And then I reread it at home in my Recovery bible. I liked the King James better.

I'm sure upon deeper studying, I probably agreed with Matthew 7, I just don't like the tone of it. Frankly, I don't believe in a deity that judges. So the beginning verses, on the surface, really grate on me. But something tells me that all it's saying is to be careful . . . mindful of how I behave toward myself and toward others because karma's a bitch!

But later in the chapter, verses 20-24, I also take issue with the idea of following other Gods. Again, I think it's the verbage that gets me, not the idea. It's my belief that many teachers have been given to humanity, Jesus being one of the biggies, but not the Alpha and the Omega. Just in the 20th/21st centuries there's William James, Emmett Fox, T.S. Elliott, Bill Wilson, Carl Jung, Mother Theresa, Eckart Tolle (who I was introduced to in the era of B.O.-Before Oprah), Thich Nhat Hanh, Don Miguel Ruiz, Dan Millman, and so on. Are these people Gods? No, each of them offered their own experiences that illustrate the presence of something very holy within each of us. And maybe it's the ability or willingness or desire to live according to that unique and individual holiness that is the journey.

As I try to learn more through my own journey, I am seeing how vital it is that I not fall victim to the idea that salvation can be achieved. When, in fact, "salvation" is at hand, here, now, today, this second. But what's my usual reality? Not salvation, I can tell you that much. Usually it's living hell. When I judge, bitch, fight, worry, control, fear, fuck up, it's at those moments that I effectively block myself from what Bill Wilson calls "the sunlight of the Spirit." So it's easy to imagine the oodles of time I spend in the dark.

I believe it's this idea upon which my salvation rests. When I can be mindful of the journey and stop focusing on the destination ( or the answer or the why or the how), only then can my foundation be set on solid ground . . . and can I take in and appreciate the real authority of the teachers who have been placed in my path.

Holy Ghost or Ghost Rider?

I must profess a significant degree of ignorance. During Pope John Paul's early years, I was a wee lass of 9 when my catechism teacher gave each member of my 3rd grade class ginormous copies of a simple pencil sketch of this guy, telling us to keep it safe. Why? Who knows, this was a dark period of silence about the abominable behavior of our priest, so nobody really talked much. Today, the church is only marginally improving on its communication front. (Why, suddenly, is the South Park ditty, "Uncle Fucker," blaring through my brain?)

The bull and the shit

A couple nights ago I went cyber with my pain over my dad and finally started searching the net for info on esophageal cancer. I joined a chat group and found the following links:

http://www.mayoclinic.org/esophageal-cancer/

http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/esophageal-cancer/DS00500/

http://www.cancer.gov/cancertopics/types/esophageal/

http://www.cancerfightingstrategies.com/index.html

http://www.breathing.com/tests.htm

http://www.cancer-connection.org/links.shtml

http://www.ecaware.org/

http://www.eccafe.org/

http://esophagealcancer.org/

http://www.thecancerblog.com/category/esophageal-cancer/

http://groups.msn.com/EsophgealCancerChatandSupport

But now I'm thinking those links are bullshit. Not that I'm a believer in rolling over and dying, not really. I'm simply looking at reality. The cancer that my dad's got is BAD. Recovery's not too promising. But that doesn't mean I'm planning funerals. I'm trying to believe in the laws of nature. . .

This winter felt like it would never fucking end, at least here in Iowa. I remember about a month ago seeing a commercial for the Masters, those luscious green fairways of Augusta taunting me in my misery of dirty snow and below zero temps. But no matter how miserable I was, I knew without a doubt, without question that spring would come. It just would, as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow morning. While this particular winter season felt longer and harder than recent ones, I knew it would pass, and it did.

And the leaves? As I listened to a friend coach me through a freakout today, I looked out at the trees and their tiny buds beginning to create that promising soft fuzz. I KNOW that the leaves themselves will come, and that they will mature throughout the spring and summer. And come fall? They'll change color, and they'll dry out, and they'll blow from their tree homes, and they'll fall to the browning grass beneath, and they'll crunch under feet, and they'll breakdown into little pieces, and they'll get soggy and melt into the Earth.

None of this is questionable. It's such a common, regular occurrence that it's practically unseen, seldom pondered, at least by me. And yet now that I'm looking at my father's mortality, I find myself searching for acceptance in such cycles. I understand on an intellectual plane that what my father's going through is simply the cycle of human life. We're born, we grow, we die. But I'm incapable of looking at this with the same faith and trust with which I know that the sun will rise tomorrow morning. I can't.

I'm scared to death of what's coming. I don't know what it is. I don't know the form it will take or the demands it will make. The one person who I would most love to talk to about this died last year. She was sick, and I couldn't handle the fear of losing her, so I simply drifted backwards to a safe distance, putting in an appearance now and then, but ultimately letting others love her through her last years, months, and days. I don't want to abandon my dad that way.