Us and Them

From a couple of days ago:

I think I deleted over a thousand emails this morning. I found this cool button on the top of the screen that checks everything on the page. So I got to review this past year...while letting it all go.

Did I make a difference? Did I do what God asked? Have I been attentive to my brothers and sisters? Was I good and kind and loving? Was I selfish? Who mattered and who didn't? Is where I am now a better place than where I was then? Not being immediately neat has had its benefits today.

Thirty three years ago, I stood before a priest and said yes to marriage. Now I am working on papers that will essentially say that I was lying on that day. Kind of rough to think about. We make choices based on what we know, and as we learn, sometimes we change our mind.

I just spent the morning in a fruitless argument with someone who can only see his point of view. Ah, but then, perhaps I can only see my point of view. I have a friend that, when we get to a certain point in a discussion, she has learned to say, "I'm not going there with you." And she is wise. I cannot appreciate her point of view and she cannot understand mine. It is best, if you value the friendship, to let it go.

My car ran out of gas and I ended up married. That about sums up the biggest turning point in my life. I think I may have run out of gas too. I got tired of my life. So why not get married?

The fall is all about change. The fall is the time to die to things we don't need anymore, to let go of the things that don't work...summer is over and the fruit that is not eaten will spoil of we don't pack it up properly, or better yet, give it to people who need it more.

The Harvest Moon is the most beautiful moon of the year. It lets us see in the darkness. We get to see well enough to clean. And cleaning is the order for my day.

From NASA: "The Harvest Moon gets its name from agriculture. In the days before electric lights, farmers depended on bright moonlight to extend the workday beyond sunset. It was the only way they could gather their ripening crops in time for market. The full Moon closest to the autumnal equinox became "the Harvest Moon," and it was always a welcome sight. "

We always collect more than we need. We have an instinct for making certain we have enough for tomorrow. Many times though, we collect much more than we need. So much so that there are fights about who will get the extra after we die.

But it is "Us against Them," right? We have to survive. We have to protect what we think is ours. One good storm, physically mentally or emotionally and we suddenly discover that what we think we have is an illusion.

I'm starting to understand that most of the 'things' I have are a burden. I have to clean them store them, step over them, pay for their maintenance. They break and have to be replaced. I am a prisoner of my stuff. And in some cases, I am a prisoner of my own memory.

The fall fills me with memories. Good and bad. But very, very real. I bought a DVD some time ago that I finally decided to watch last night:"Prime Suspect." It caught and kept my attention because the story was about a 55 year old woman who was being encouraged to retire from police work. In the course of the story, she visits her father, who lives in a retirement community. He encourages her to retire. She looks over at a woman sleeping in a comfortable chair. Her father just doesn't get her at all. She is polite.

The story progresses and she uncovers a holocaust in Bosnia, perpetrated by Christians against Muslims. This was common not so long ago, but our news media doesn't speak of it often. Christians being the bad guys is not received well here. I watch the show and understand better why perhaps the population there tends to doubt God.

Near the end of the story, the woman visits again with her father. She tells him about the horror of the massacre she uncovered. Her father then decided to tell her about some things that happened to him in World War II. He weeps. And they connect on a deep level. They share their pain and as a side effect, they share their love.

My Dad was not always a nice man. Some people wonder why I chose to love him although he was sometimes cruel and brutal to me. I suppose because I knew that there was much more to the man than his occasional, and later quite often, meanness. In holy moments, he told me about his experiences in World War II. He wept. He wept when he told me about the war. He wept when he told me that he loved my mother. He wept when he told me about how much he wanted my mother to love him. But she just couldn't do it. She couldn't tell her stories. And they kept her in prison.

His stories, his memories, helped me to learn how I could love him. He showed me something real, not just a 'pretty picture,' not just making nice, or making victim...but real. We know when we are being respected with the real in someone else. And it is a gift of love...even when it hurts.

So the only 'treasure' we get to hang on to is memory...and I don't know if that follows us into heaven. But I can be certain that the things we collect here don't join us there.

That's about as far as I could go with the writing on Tuesday...or was it Wednesday? Never really know. I added the part about my father's tears. I had forgotten how he cried. I usually remember him screaming at me for some dust behind the toilet or grass leaves I left on the sidewalk...but there were other times.

Maggie asked me, how I could love a father who beat me. That's because I remember more than being beaten. Living is so much more than just diary entries. But as you are willing, I ask you to reflect on the "diary entries" in your life. What do you remember? What have you forgotten? Can remembering or forgetting help you now?

I spent a good hour on the phone with someone this morning. I hate talking on the phone. You only really get to hear about 40% of what is being said over the phone. Much of what is said comes in how we stand, when we make eye contact, when we look away, whether we are tired or frisky...so I was handicapped in being helpful, but I did my best.

What I told her, I knew I had to tell myself. Every conflict, every wound we receive, is a gift from God. Just like all the stuff we call good. Sometimes the good stuff can bite us in the behind later...and sometimes the greatest pain will bring the greatest pleasure once we understand it.

Her desire was to run away from the conflict. I suggested she hang in there and onto it. God had given her a great gift. Most of us recoil at confrontation. We like to "make nice." Especially those of us that are females. Put lipstick on it and call it beautiful. Sometimes that works. Sometimes though...

I know Therese of Lisieux had a real thorn in her side most of her short life. She chose to embrace the thorn as a gift. Paul talks about his thorn, appropriately to the whiny Corinthians, who thought they were too good to suffer.

I think perhaps it is not really the unpleasant words that people are saying around us or about us that makes us crazy, but that we are so weak that we believe what they are telling us...or we begin to doubt our own beliefs. Maybe our beliefs need to be doubted. Maybe the threat is a good one. But if there was just some way that we could hear each other without all that personal baggage attached to it. If we could hear freely, receive freely, accept freely or deny freely...each thing that enters our lives, we might be better people.

I'm probably not making much sense. I can love my father because, at times, he was real with me...and I respect real. God is real. When I feel the "real" with someone else, I feel God. It complicated. Even if you have something you think will be unpleasant to share with someone you love, I think that, if you pray about it first, and share your truth in love, ultimately love will win. God is always present in the truth. And God is always present in the love.

Suffering is a gift. It lets us see in the dark...like the full moon, it uncovers both the good and the bad and lets us know that we are real.

I see the moon and the moon sees me,
God bless the moon and God bless me.

Tell me why the stars do shine
Tell me why the ivy twines
Tell me why the sky's so blue
And I will tell you just why I love you...

Because God made, the stars do shine
Because God made, the ivy twine
Because God made the sky so blue
Because God made you is why I love you.

Love, Cindy