Finding Happy

Image from Keystrokes & Kaleidoscopes

I looked up from my paper plate full of beans-and-wieners and fall-off-the-bone sweet barbeque ribs. I caught my brother, David, looking past me to the other side of the garage, his face relaxed except for the eyebrows slightly pinched together. His eyes were intensely focused, telescoped in on something, all senses following to a point across the room.

My head turned, as if drawn by the energy from him, toward my mom sitting at the table behind me. Her eyes were watery, and her head was down, using the plate in front of her as an excuse to not make eye contact. Her face was in stark contrast to the sparkling eyes, smiles, hugs, and laughter going on around us.

We were there in the garage (the traditional place of gathering and celebration of graduations in Minnesota) celebrating Josh, her grandson, and his moving on from high school. We were celebrating his future and hope and accomplishment and triumph and persistence and life.

The word graduation itself is more than a celebration of an accomplishment, an end to a story. It means moving from one level to another. Gradually moving to the next gradation, or level, in a series. It is a celebration of continuation, of the end of one chapter that excitedly sets the stage with eager anticipation for the beginning of the next chapter.

We often refer to a graduation ceremony as commencement, which literally means a beginning. Josh was at the precipice of a new adventure and we were all there, trying to find some way to encourage him to embrace the strength, joy, endurance, and wisdom that he had gained through the trials of his most recent sojourn. Trying to express our hope for him to take what he had learned into the future and not let the tribulations of the past be for naught.

I asked myself, knowing full well the answer, why this particular graduation seemed to be so much happier than that of the preceding thirteen nieces and nephews. The answer is in the idea that colors pop out when set against their opposites. Yellow may feel soft, warm, and relaxing when sitting among orange and spring greens. But it becomes alive, vibrant, even jumps at you, when set atop plum purple. A moment in time can feel bigger, more alive, more present, depending on the canvas it is painted on. The paradox was that our happiness had been painted on a canvas of pain, which made it burst into our hearts unlike any other.

My mom had just seen the photos, at the guest sign-in and gift drop-off table. Photos of Josh with his dad, her son. One snapshot was a preschool Josh sleeping droopy mouthed on his dad’s chest. Another was his Dad holding him up on his first “dirt-squirt” motocross bike, grinning wider than his helmet. Several other photos panned across his life with Dad before high school.

The first week of high school, four years ago, Josh had missed. His dad had been suddenly taken from him, from us, from the world, that weekend and there were the associated activities and grieving that kept him from attending school.

The pride in all that Josh had accomplished through these past four years was about more than him being a great kid. It was about persistence in overcoming adversity. It was about holding onto a dream, albeit broken, to drag it into reality. It was about a young man finding himself through losing his father.

A friend challenged me to write about a joyous event or time in my life. Something not related to work, just for fun. Taking her challenge – assignment actually, I tried to think of something that qualified. Indeed I came up with many happy times, but none seemed to resonate real heart felt joy as much as the times that were coupled with an underlying sense of the tragic. Perhaps, instead of wishing for life to be easier, I will attempt to embrace the spirit of overcoming in myself, and acknowledge that the joy that is born through adversity is so much sweeter than a simple complacent smile.

Insidious Redeemed

Image credit: Ransom Riggs

by Kelly Wegscheid

The hand that touched upon my chest

That penetrated as it firmly pressed

That sent its heat fiercely through my unsuspecting breast

It wrapped my heart in fingers bold

It sent heat waves through my veins once cold

And seeped into my blood like stories never told

Then sprung a root (or was it thorn?)

With tentacles like seedlings born

Which wrapped 'round and 'round and up and down each and every cell forlorn

Its energy came coursing true

Wrapping 'round and 'round and through and through

It didn't know, but tried to wash away all thoughts of You

Its vines… No, roots... No, thorns…

Wound tight and pulled and tangled

Until, thick, they brought on darkness raging

With a passion raw, seeking light, it scratched and clawed

Another piercing of my wounded heart

Willful ripping of my Creator’s art

Undone by its own unleashed lust

Then bursting out, it found next sought

And flew away, left me for naught

Its hand upon my chest I had not fought

In darkest core still hid my heartbeat

Smoldering with hope I could no longer feed

Its blood and breath and life sucked out like a gasp of heat

Survival dictates preserve thyself

So with grace and peace and clarity

One fell swoop loped off that hand and shriveled what remained

All foreign, ugly, dead debris

Instantly became ashes

Which turned to mulch to feed my hope

Just how the Good Book says it happens

The Essence of Life

[Oil painting by Leah Saulnie]

So...I was thinking...we're a pretty conceited bunch, us humans. We're always believing that what we believe is truth and everyone else just doesn't get it. Especially when it comes to ourselves. We think that if we're smart enough, or wise enough, or experienced enough, we can figure out what we're all about. Each one of us has a belief about where "it" all came from. The world. Creation. Us. If someone was asked where it all came from, they'd either have some semblance of an answer, or they'd stop and think about it and try to come up with an answer (you just did, didn't you?). As if we could actually tap into an answer for such a question.

Admit it. It would be an extremely rare person that would answer that they know absolutely nothing about how life began because a created thing cannot comprehend its own creation or creator.
(however, some of you might be self-aware enough to have acknowledged your own ignorance while reading that last sentence - but if you acknowledged your ignorance after it was pointed out that you might be self-aware enough to do so, you probably haven't accepted your ignorance, but just have a desire to be self-aware, and you are now, instead, starting to think that I have no idea what I'm talking about and I'm being conceited by acting as if I know you, which, obviously, I am. But then, so are you, and I've just given you another example of how we're all pretty conceited)

Anyway, I was thinking how conceited we are because I had this conversation with a friend the other day about God creating the world, and Adam and Eve, and how long did that really take, and was it really seven real days, or was it over millions of years, or did God make millions of years of stuff happen in just seven days? The day after our conversation, I realized it makes no difference at all how long it took.

Life was created.

That sort of puts a grinding halt to any thought processes about how or when or why or who. How can we possibly comprehend the least little thing about creation when we are intrinsically incapable of grasping the concept of life coming into existence from nothing. How can we, the created, understand anything about our own creation?

Yet, we spend an incredible amount of human energy believing, discussing, studying, and explaining the who, what, when, where, why and how of our existence, as if we know what the essence of life even is. None of us has a clue. It's the elephant in the room and we're all talking about its trunk and wrinkly skin and little fuzzy hairs and droopy eyes and floppy ears and whether its breath is sweet or salty, but no one admits there is an elephant there. We all know that we can't possibly comprehend the creation of our own life, but we all live as if the base-line for human intelligence is the assumption that, if we just try hard enough, we can figure out what life is all about.

Admit it. The only way we can know anything about creation is by divine revelation.
I ache for it. Divine revelation.

Something Stinks

[Photo from Animal Planet]

I was "skunked" in my dream, and maybe in my real life too. 

There was a man named Skunk. Apparently for some reason, that really didn't involve me but had more to do with protecting himself by redirecting suspicion, he had registered my name and entered slanderous rumors about me in a validity database. The original intent of this database was for the proper authorities to privately approve or deny any claims submitted. Unfortunately for many, soon after Skunk's entry, the database project was dropped and all the open cases were declassified, unprotected and available for public viewing. People swarmed the database considering it to be a new authority on dirty laundry. Entries were unable to be deleted, unable to be refuted, unable to be defended. No recourse, no recovery, no reason. I had been "skunked."

Have you ever been "skunked?" I've been feeling skunked lately. Thus the dream, I guess. However, this dream really made me think about how I should be responding to being skunked. I did a little research on skunks to help me think it through. Two main themes that stood out. 1) A skunk is really a pacifist. It just wants to be left alone. If it feels threatened, it will give multiple warnings. Only if those warnings go unheeded, it will spray. 2) Something stinks in my life.

In the dream, I was the one "sprayed" by Skunk. It was not because of me, but I suffered the consequences. A spray is a protection. The skunk's desire to live within his own shelter. I could have been sprayed because of a perceived threat by Skunk, but I will suffer whether the threat was intentional or not, real or not, because I did not notice the warnings, or recognize them as warnings. Perhaps my reputation will suffer. Or maybe my confidence. But now, "something stinks" in my life.

But what has changed? It is only other people's perception of me that has changed. It's not my perception of me (unless I take it on). God's perception of me definitely has not changed. In its most basic reality, this skunking is just a tiny bit of misunderstanding. Maybe more from some people than others, but nonetheless, just misunderstanding. And misunderstanding is really nothing personal, nothing malicious.

I realize that in my life (vs. the dream) I have been taking on this "skunking" as persecution. Persecution being an ill-treatment, or an actual "acting out" of a desire to "put down" the person. Persecution?! Get over myself! Just because someone doesn't "get" me, or is misinformed about me, does not keep me from having confidence and faith. Misunderstanding is just that. Someone's understanding misses the mark of reality.

And then, I have been taking this perceived persecution as a righteous reason to be angry. Angry?! Another step in the wrong direction. If I was indeed being persecuted, I should be counting it a blessing to be worthy of it. You see, I believe that those who stand firm in their faith, and truly desire to live a Godly life, will suffer persecution. So, as I said, if it really is persecution, I should be taking it as affirmation of my faith, not be angry at those doing the persecuting.

I've been skunked. 

Not the first time. Probably not the last. 

I have decided to respond with "Oh well!"

Urgency in Slow Motion

Does your life ever feel like it is a long drawn-out slow motion event of catching someone’s eye across a crowded room, connecting at some cosmic level of knowing and urgency, trying desperately to reach them in an act to save the world (or perhaps yourself), but only being able to see them from your peripheral vision from then on?

Hm. Mine does. Sometimes.
Is that weird?

No Earthly Good

Perhaps I am “so heavenly minded that I am no earthly good.” 

I desperately want heaven to open and pour down on me. I desperately want myself and those around me to desperately want something more from life. Knowing that that desperation will never be satisfied this side of heaven, I want heaven to come to earth and increase that desperation in all of us for more of heaven. 

I have no. desire. what. so. ever. to do chores. 

Perhaps that is why I sometimes feel I am "no earthly good."

Tailspin Anyone?

I know that I have told God that I don't like roller coasters! The emotional ones, that is. I didn't think I would have had to specifically include "tail spins" in the list of things I do not like. I assume He knows. Whether I told Him or not. He is God, right? The all-knowing? So, apparently He doesn't care that I don't like roller coasters or tailspins. Or maybe it's precisely because I don't like them that He keeps putting me in them. He either thinks it's funny or He's using that stupid Face Your Fear To Get Over It philosophy. But I don't fear roller coasters or tailspins. I just strongly dislike them. So, I believe He just thinks it's funny.

Here I am, on my nice little life adventure in my little private plane. God is the pilot, of course. We are cruising along at a good altitude, enjoying the view and maybe listening to some good soulful music. Suddenly the plane takes a nose dive, then goes into a tail spin! He waits for me to crap my pants before he pulls the plane out of it, and through tears of gut-wrenching laughter, God (my God, the almighty God) says "Wow I really scared you! That was great! Ahhhwww...I'm sorry. But that really was hilarious!"

It makes me want to punch Him.

You know, I used to strongly dislike physical roller coasters too. The real, tangible, amusement park ones. I didn't hate them. I just didn't think there was any particularly good reason for throwing one's body around and letting it entertain the very real possibility that it could be flung unnaturally through the air and crash, just as unnaturally, to the ground. It seemed, well, unnatural.

That changed the day I decided to ride a ridiculously overpriced, extravagant, but still seemingly pointless roller coaster in Las Vegas, simply to pass the time away while waiting for a flight out of town. While buckling into the ride, I couldn't believe I had actually given someone hard earned money for just a few minutes of such an unnatural experience. However, those same few minutes later, my face filled with teethy grin, I hysterically screamed with a hoarse voice "Let's do it again!!"

No one could have convinced me beforehand how exhilarating and life-affirming that experience would be (...for me anyway...the teary first words of the friend we had forced to go with us were "I HATE YOU BOTH!"). Yes, I screamed. Yes, I roared. I screamed and roared with both terror and with thrill. There was not one cell in my body that was thinking.

Maybe the reason I previously did not like roller coasters is because they were too mild. They left room to think about and analyze the experience. Whereas the life altering experience in Las Vegas was pure reaction and emotion. The only intellectual part about it was the decision to pay the price and get on the ride.

Maybe that's what God wants for me on these emotional rides. He may want me to make the decision that I'm all in. And then experience His ultimate Extreme Emotional Thrill Ride. Won't it be fun when I can come out of an emotional tailspin saying "That was great!" instead of wanting to punch God?

Do You Have a Plan?

I'm excited. I'm starting something new again. Well, it's not quite new. It's been hanging around for years. But I'm starting it. Again. For real this time. I'm committed. I'm motivated. And I'm taking steps.

Today, someone asked me "Do you have a plan?" A plan? "Yeah. Do you have a plan?"

Do I need a plan? I mean, I just started. Albeit again. I just committed. Albeit finally. I trust it has all been in God's timing, the starting of this "new thing." His hand has been too evident in it to not believe that. And progress, too, will be in God's hands.

But isn't it true that failing to plan is the same as planning to fail? That's what common, modern, business enthusiasm would prescribe. Right? It makes sense. I'm restraining myself from reciting all the logical and very sensible reasons why this axiom is so prevalent. I know them all. They all make sense. They are boundaries and maps for our frail human determination. We need to have a plan to make progress. Don't we?

Why I'm restraining myself from the logical plan-making instead of just doing it, I'm not sure. Maybe it's because I'd like to think that my lack of schedule and planning is somehow more "spiritually led" and thus more spiritual. That would justify it right? It certainly sounds better than I'm lazy or scatterbrained. Maybe it's because I want to make sure that God will get all the credit for any positive results because I would not have had MY plan to lean on. Maybe it's because I don't like planning. I just like being excited and starting something. Maybe it's because I like the element of surprise and newness each day when God unfolds what He wants me to do that day, instead of me knowing in advance what I intend to do and then being disappointed when it happens differently. I also like the excitement that ensues when I have "no idea where any of this is leading" but then suddenly I look back over the past months and see some awesome road that has been forged through a jungle.

No. I don't have a plan. At least not yet. Maybe never. Unless my plan is to follow God's prompting each day. Unless I get a plan FROM God tomorrow. Then I'll have a plan. You know what? I'm changing my answer. To: 

"Yes. I have a plan. But it's God's plan and He hasn't revealed it to me yet."