A Day in the Life

I read the news again, oh boy….

Except this time the lucky man didn't make the grade and the English army wasn't fighting.

But a crowd of people are staring.  In Charleston…Chattanooga….Waller County, Texas…Lafayette, Louisiana.  It's a new day so just fill in the blank. A crowd of people staring.   In disbelief, in horror, in grief.  Faithful church goers; family of slain service men; the loved ones of Sandra Bland; people who just wanted to see a movie.

And other crowds of people are going on their merry way.  Ignoring the horror, not phased by fear.  At least so it seems.

Aren't we tired?  Tired of hearing the same story with different characters every day?  Aren't we tired of the rants, the hatefulness, the arrogance and righteousness we throw at each other?  These stones aimed at disagreeing parties behind the safety wall of our computer screens.  Because that'll show 'em.  That will make a difference.  That will prove that I am right and they are wrong.  That will teach them to shut up. And really...isn't that what it's all about anyway, teaching each other to shut up because we disagree?  It couldn't be about something more, could it?  Like - oh I don't know - another human being's life?  More human blood spilled due to…. fill-in-the-blank because it's all starting to blur together anyway.  More stories of love being denied because it's too offensive.  And all the while people are dying and children are crying out in the streets with nothing to eat and no one to read them a bedtime story.

All I hear is deafening silence about the stuff that really matters.  The kind of silence that remains complacent and ignores hard truths.  The kind of silence that prefers status quo over uncomfortable conversation.

God forbid that God's love would move any of us to change.  Even in the slightest bit.
God forbid that we will finally be so sick and tired of it all that we do the hard work of looking within.  What is (or isn't) going on within our own hearts that allows us to turn a blind eye to the devastation around us?

Would it be too hard?  Too time consuming?  Too inconvenient?

What will it take for our hearts, and the hearts of those in power, to break long enough before we really do something that matters?  Not just for ourselves, but for someone one else who is just trying to make ends meet, too.  Just trying to get by.  Just trying to be happy.  Just reaching for the "dream."

Last I checked the population was more than 1.

I read the news again, oh boy….

But "life gets in the way," we say after another sip of coffee.
And then another life has passed us by.

Praying for Enough.

Zoom in.  To the pen and paper.  The way the ink feels as it slides across the page.  Turning lines into letters.  Thoughts - abstract and uncertain - into words.  Words into sentences, careless about the sense they make.  The question is always what to write.  The weather.  The way the sky looks as the day begins.  The sounds of a house not yet awake.  A day just barely begun.  The list of things to-do today.   My body is tired and restless at the same time.  My heart longs for God.

Zoom in.  To the bucket dipping into the well of my soul, wondering if I have to lower it all that much to get anything.  I hope not.  I hope the water is further down.  I hope insight and creativity pool with it.

I hope there will always be enough.

There's that word again.  Enough.

I think there will.  Always be enough, that is.

If I look at the world - and not just my part of it.  Not just my corner.
Look beyond the scope of my eyes.  There's really a lot out there.  Given.  Provided.

If I think even longer at it, I realize that we had absolutely nothing to do with it.  With the way it got here or how it came to be.  Enough before my very eyes and beyond my very eyes.
All of our eyes.
Blue.  Green.  Brown.  Gray.  Darker Brown.  Steel.  Colors that mix together.

I had nothing to do with how enough got here.  But I have something to do with how it can continue to be enough.

My saddest days are when my green eyes see infinite as finite.  When enough expires.
It comes with confusion, chaos, insanity.  Everyone running around like headless chickens screaming, "mine!"

Then I think about the story of the loaves and fishes.  Every stomach filled.  Every heart full.  Every pair of eyes looked into and cared for.  And then - leftovers.

If that is the meaning of our existence, then we have some work to do.

Zoom out.  Look beyond my eyes.  There is enough.

Go and live as though you see it.

Wake Up.

I sit here watching her sleep.  I notice the simple rhythm of breathing as her tiny body rises ever so gently with each inhale.  One arm folds around in a self-hug, her hand tucked warmly in the crevice of the elbow.  A sudden movement and she rubs her eye.  A sleepy reminder that this nap is not ready to be over.  I watch her and my heart aches.

What kind of world will she grow up in?
One that values the lives of all people or one that will teach her that no where is safe?  Not even schools.   Or sidewalks.  Or churches.

What kind of world will she grow up in?

A world wrought with the horrors of violence and racism, sexism and hate? Or one of justice and compromise, conversation and respect?

Will the things we teach her now matter at all when she is 5 or 15 or 25?

As someone who was born with white skin, how can we teach her that people who look different are still brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, friends, co-workers, schoolmates?  And by the time she is grown will the barriers be drawn even tighter than they are now?

I sit here watching her sleep.  So peacefully.  Not a fear in the world.  And my heart aches.

My heart aches because she is so innocent to the horrific things that happen in this world.

My heart aches because there are so many children who do not know the peace she knows...and never will.

My heart aches because every day we come to a church and we always feel safe.  We take it for granted.  And now for so many people, predominately those whose skin is darker than mine, that sense of safety at church has been replaced with fear, and hate, and blood.  Where else can they go?

How long, O Lord, how long?

We all want to do something to create positive and lasting change.
The sooner we step beyond ourselves and our own sense of privilege and pride, the sooner we can cry with those who are afflicted.  The sooner we can mourn the loss of our siblings in Christ.  And the sooner we can step into our specific role in the work of justice and peace.

I don't know where to begin, or what to do, so I suppose I will start with myself and the precious little girl whom I call daughter.

Love people.  ALL people.
Racism is still a problem.  What can I do to recognize it and be a part of healing rather than division?
You never know what someone is going through.  Be kind.  Be kind.  Be kind.

The world has so much to offer.  Why do we feel the need to live as though it has been given to only a token few?
There is nothing we can do to reverse what has been done - violence towards our black brothers and sisters; violence toward those who love different, look different, believe different than another.

As a minister I wish I could say I understood why these things happen.  It would be foolish to pretend that I do.

But as a minister, and most importantly as just an ordinary person who loves God and tries to follow Jesus, I believe with every ounce of my being that God created the world in love for us all.  For us all.  And we are all - all - created in that holy image.  How can we destroy one another with our words, our hate, our prejudice?  How?  And almost more heartbreakingly - how can we go on living as though it doesn't matter?  How?

As I watch my daughter sleep, my heart aches for those whose lives were ripped apart last night in Charleston.  And for those who walk cautiously because they are afraid of people with skin like mine.  And how can I blame them?  So much damage has been done.  We must do what we can in the places we live to turn the tables of hate into platforms of peace.

It starts with one.  One sleeping baby to wake up.  One sleeping nation to be fed up with the way things are.

To my daughter - wake up to the world God so loves.  Claim you love it too.  And do everything in your power to see that love filter through every corner...of every place…you go.  Hate is limited but love knows no bounds.  Choose to be a part of love.  



Praying for Charleston.  Praying for Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church.
 

(not) Too late to write...

I don't know what I'm doing.  My brain usually shuts off right at or just before 8:12 p.m.  I'm not usually in bed by now, rather curled up on the couch watching How I Met Your Mother reruns - asleep.  So the fact that I'm blogging only means one of three things:

1.  I can't find any reruns of HIMYM while channel surfing and I'm too lazy to grab one of our (every) season on DVD.
2.  Abbey is in dreamland and Jeff is at band practice.
3.  Inspiration has rattled my bones.

Okay it means two of three things.  Or all three but I haven't turned on the t.v. to see if I hit the trifecta.

But mainly, I'm putting a little nugget out here because I've been inspired and I need to hold myself accountable to that inspiration.  On Friday night I returned from the inaugural Frederick Buechner Writer's Workshop at Princeton Seminary.  I'll save the "small-town girl travels to the big city" post for another day.

Right now, with the dwindling bits of energy I have left, I want to put into just a few words how incredible the week was.  So - for brevity's sake, I'll use bad grammar, lots of quotes, and wonderful fragments.

-Barbara Brown Taylor is about as close to God as I've come so far in my 31 years.  And I was standing right next to her at the coffee shop one morning.  (I'm sure she wanted to talk to me just as badly, right?)  I know she's only human, but really, we all have to be star-struck fans every once in a while.
- When asked if there was a particular place she goes to write, BBT mentioned a little place on her property that helps her focus and center herself.  The questioner asked, "So like a hermitage?"  "Well," BBT shrugged, "…like a shed." It was funny. You had to be there.
-New friends are like a giant cold glass of Gatorade at the end of a run on a smothering kind of day.
-New friends who are amazing writers who you never would've met otherwise are like a gallon of cold Gatorade at the end of a run on a smothering kind of day.
-"Writing is sacrament.  Writing provides an occasion for mystery.  And mystery is the presence of more meaning than you can comprehend."  Thank you Rev. Dr. Yolanda Pierce.
-tell the truth
-"change occurs in the context of relationship"
-BBT - what does it mean to write for thousands of people?  - "it's not about vomiting up your hairballs in public"
-Rachel Held Evans - to be a writer, you need a thick skin and a tender heart.
-Sarah Arthur - What is that one thing you must start/finish/work on?
-"Journal writings are offerings of something like a prayer.  There is an audience who hears us, even if we never share."  Thank you again, Rev. Dr. Yolanda Pierce.

I want to be a writer.  There I said it.  To all seven of you! ;)

I don't know where to begin or where it will end, but someone once said you have to start somewhere.

Reading is a good place to start.  I am ashamed to admit there are many classics of which I have not creased the binding.

Therefore, may it be so that on this 15th day of June, 2015, I, Anne Ross Bruce, hereby declare this the

"Summer of Reading and Writing"

Which means I'm going to read and write like never before.

I have some thoughts on where to begin, but would appreciate any recommendations you can muster!

(I should set some concrete goals, though, shouldn't I?  But it's already 10:02...)

I knew it was too late to write…more where this came from.

"The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet."
Frederick Buechner

Closing Time

There are two songs I love with the title, "Closing Time."  The first is the 90s classic by Semisonic.  If you grew up in the late 80s & 90s, you know this song and (hopefully) love it.  If you don't love it, then  I'm not sure we can be friends. (Just kidding. Maybe…).  It's one of those songs that perfectly captures bittersweet moments of ending and transition.  It's the ideal high school graduation song - or college graduation since it says something about whiskey and beer.   The signature quotable line is, "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."  Sigh. Genius.

The other song with this title is one by Texas artist Sean McConnell.  When Jeff & I lived in Fort Worth, we became big fans (bordering on groupie) of Sean McConnell because we loved his music, and mainly because one of Jeff's childhood buddies was Sean's touring drummer.  I became obsessed with his album, "Saints, Thieves, and Liars" near the time we moved from Fort Worth.  The raw ballads captured so poetically the tearing pieces of my heart as I prepared to leave a place & people I had come to love while also anticipating with excitement the new beginning ahead.  The song on this album, "Closing Time", actually came after my very favorite song on the album.  It's a song about a romantic relationship ending, and so at first I didn't pay much attention to it.  But the melody grew on me and soon I found myself belting it out in the car as a farewell prayer for the life I was leaving.

Closing time.

As May turns to June there are a lot of endings approaching.  The end of Spring.  The end of school.  Graduation season.  Transitions from one place to another.  For us church nerds it is the end of the Easter season.  I think many of us could safely say that the month of May is typically a time of closing, ending, and goodbyes.

I don't have any significant closings in my life this year.  But many people I know are saying goodbye to high school, or college, or seminary.  Many parents I know are hanging on to the slipping thread of final moments in their senior's last year of high school.  Some people I know are preparing to pack up their lives in boxes, say their goodbyes, and move to a new city or state.

Closing time.

Today I wrote in the final page of the journal I have had since December 2012.  This particular journal was the thickest one I have ever owned.  And although I have been writing more regularly in these last few years than I ever have, this is the longest amount of time I have spent in one journal.  There was also a long stretch of time after Abbey was born where I was either too lost in exhaustion or despair to pick up my pen.

It's a weird feeling to write a final entry in a book that has literally been by your side for 2 and a half years.  In one sense it's an ending, but only for me.  It's not like a graduation where you have a whole group of people to commemorate the experience while leaning on one another's shoulders.  In the grand scheme of things, an end to a particular journal is not a big deal - like, at all.  It's not as though I'll stop writing and it doesn't make any difference to anyone else.  But it does to me.  This journal has carried me through a lot.  A lot of new beginnings and a lot of closing times.  It's been there in my continued struggles of call and ministry.  It has been the home for my prayers and most recently, my creative writing exercises.  In the early pages I expressed despair and sorrow for the shooting of children in Newtown, CT in December 2012.  I recorded prayers of hope for Jeff's home congregation when their church building burned down in March of 2013.  My journal holds words of exasperation for the state of our world when racial, sexual, and economic injustices paint the streets of our country and send its people into opposing camps of distrust and hatefulness.

This journal has in its pages the celebration of the birth of my niece Ella in October 2013.  It holds the story of the day my daughter Abbey came into this world on February 19, 2014.  In its pages I have written about the deaths of my grandparents - Nana and Granddaddy - and how their lives have richly touched mine.

Transitions.  Losses.  Gains.  Celebrations.  Frustrations.  Fears.  Questions.  Prayers.  Affirmations.  Searches for truth, and joy, and meaning.

Closing Time.

In this season of endings and beginnings, I hope that I will continue to find God through the act of putting pen to paper and sharing freely the yearnings of my heart, the depths of my questions, and the every day graces of ordinary life.

And I hope that, whatever closing time you are going through, you will find a way to be still before it, bless it, and honor it in a way that only you can.  No matter what our endings may be - whether it's a book, a journal, or a season in life - they are important.  They have meaning and lessons for us.  We just have to pay attention to them.  And then... we have to let them go.  Because, just like the song says:  "every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."

True love: A girl's struggle with pizza (not a metaphor for life, I don't think….)

I ate pizza one night for supper
That is enough for now, I said.
And then the next day, I ate pizza again.
Really, I groaned, that's enough.  No more.
And wouldn't you know, two nights later
Pizza offered itself to me.

And I said, well,
if you insist.

Well shoot, I've done it again.
I gave in to the temptation.
The cheesiness of its appearance, its scent
too delicious for me to bear.

Why did I cave in and have another slice
Even after I had told it, Enough?
Paying no mind for the way I will feel tomorrow
Or to whom the blame will fall heavily upon
When the guilt of indulgence settles in.

Certainty

I never want to be so sure of myself
that I go through life without stopping
to consider the still, small voice.

I never want to talk so loudly
and so matter-of-factly
that I go through life
unable to hear it sigh and breathe.

I never want to project my truth
onto another
That I go through life
rejecting theirs.

I want to be sure of myself.
I want peace of mind.
But I also want peace of spirit.
And that opens up a whole new world of color.

This kind of peace is tricky, I think.
It requires a certain amount of doubt
And pause...
And wonder...
This kind of peace
remembers the still, small voice….
Is much bigger than mine.