She was possessed by the most piteous yearning for a friend who esteemed her. Who could help her find herself again. She was a woman who had lost herself.~From Ecstasy by Mary Sharratt
In recognition of Women's History Month, I salute some of the women who have helped me to find myself again. The women are listed in alphabetical order and initials are used to protect identities.
AG~A woman I admire for her love and tenacity. She is bi-lingual. When I travel to Italy, she speaks English so that I don't feel so confused. She bravely raises two lovely daughters in a troubled world. She tells me that often when she reads my blog posts, she senses that I "get her." She "gets me," and this is such comfort.
AM~A. is tri-lingual. She lived in the US for many years, acclimating to a different culture. I know some of the strength it takes to do this. On each side of the ocean, she has helped me to find my way.
BJ~B.works tirelessly and creatively to minister to children. She also keeps writing songs and singing and will produce an album this summer of music she's written. Her willingness and enthusiasm to pursue her passions are such encouragement when I feel like throwing in the towel with writing.
CR~C. approached me one night at a creativity conference. She said she wanted to introduce herself to other creative folk. We formed a bond. She models such courage. She chose love and moved to another state and made a new life. She has not looked back, even though she has struggled. Her story helps me to keep pursuing love.
DB~D. also approached me decades ago and boldly stated she wanted to be my friend. How did she know that an introvert like me would need an invitation to friendship? We have never parted ways, even though we do not live close geographically. Her perseverance to raise five children and now to care for her mother with such faith and determination is mind-boggling to me. I don't know how she does it. She would say, "living one day at a time by faith." How I need her wisdom in my life.
FE~F. is like a cheerleader to me. Her vivacity and creativity are like "sparklers" on a dark night. Her practical feedback and honest appraisal of my writing has helped me to keep moving forward. I not only respect her "creative eye," but also admire her commitment as a mother to raise children inside a home filled with beauty and faith.
GP~Her home is filled with pastel colors and baked goods that rival Martha Stewart. Bright flowers bloom along the borders of her yard. Seeds seem to sprout in the warmth of her countenance. She loves the Word and is a powerful prayer warrior. She still writes snail mail. Her quiet confidence to be herself is like a super power in my life.
JA~J. lives a life of bold faith. And her unwavering faithfulness to me continues to be a tower of strength. Recently, she made a decision that has drastically changed the trajectory of her life--a choice that has taken the courage of a lion. I look at her success and am challenged to be bold as well.
JT~J. provides delicious conversation and book recommendations. She is stalwart in her faith and has raised three gorgeous and talented children. Her ability to live life realistically and mindfully is a consistent anchor in my life.
KJ~K. has lived her life managing disability. She does so with humor and grace. Her faith in God is wider than the ocean. She encourages me in the way she trusts God. She is frugal. I love how she models this trait, especially.
KT~If I had to choose a woman who takes appropriate risks, K. would be the one. A couple of years ago, her life was headed one way. Then it wasn't. She bravely forged another path, moving to another state and re-starting her education. I don't know how she did it, really. She would say it is God's grace that provided and continues to provide her energy. I stand back in awe and thanksgiving that I have a woman like this in my life.
MD~M. is probably the most elegant woman I know. She speaks with eloquence and courtesy. She is well-read. She loves poetry. Every time I am with her, she causes me to feel as if I'm the most important person in the world. She works hard and loves her family. What fortune to have M. in my life.
MMB~M. is proficient at asking open-ended questions. Her curiosity to know others and to explore life is a supremely engaging quality. She is the woman who takes the road less traveled with faith and passion. She is skilled at finding delight wherever she travels.
SP~S. has "staying power" in my life. We met as adolescents. S. has never let go of my hand. She loved me as a teenager, and loves me now as a senior. Her love has transcended the decades.
I honor all of you. Thank you for your rich presence in my life. For esteeming me. For helping me not lose myself.
chiaroscuro {kee-ahr-oh-SKYOOR-oh. Noun and adjective}
~MEANING: This is a word whose literal meaning, "light-dark," describes a sufficiently universal quality for it to be applied to a wide range of "things": style, method, treatment, effect, sketch, print. Figuratively, chiaroscuro can be "used of poetic or literary treatment, criticism, mental complexion, etc., in various obvious senses, as mingled "clearness and obscurity," "cheerfulness and gloom," "praise and blame."~From Endangered Words, A Collection of Rare Gems for Book Lovers by Simon Hertnon
All the while, we rode with the sound of classical music drifting from the car radio, rain drizzling down the windshield under a sky the color of a silver nickel. We'd driven out to the country, about twenty miles from our new home, hoping to discover a DMV that would be less crowded. I couldn't help but observe the multiple contrasts as we roamed the smooth, less-traveled blacktop. Miles and miles of lanky pines. Stately homes in the middle of a lonely field, white columns holding up the porches, front doors painted red or turquoise. Other homes with caved-in roofs and peeling paint, the windows still intact. A red-brick church with a sign outside its doors that proclaimed: "A half-truth is still a lie." Another church, dilapidated, rain dripping on concrete floors from holes in the roof, the Last Supper with New Testament characters depicted in a faded, wooden display near the church entrance, now bizarrely open showing the empty facade. A pristine red and white Coca-Cola truck delivering product to a run-down convenience store. Then a line of cars--people waiting to be tested for COVID-19 next to a sign that advertised, "Twenty Ribeye Steaks For $30."
These contrasts reminded me of a conversation I had a few days ago with a man doing work for us in our new home. He is a hard worker and a skilled craftsman. I sat in a corner with my phone, attempting to make the many changes one has to perform when changing addresses. The man laid down his drill, and the room became strangely quiet. Then he spoke in the silence between us. "I'm really worried about our country." I looked up from my phone and made eye contact. "What worries you the most?" I asked. He answered, "We are so divided, you know?" I could hear the ache in his voice, see the pain in his eyes. He touched his mask then (we had requested that he wear one while working in the house) and said, "I don't really believe in masks. I think this whole COVID thing is a hoax, no worse than the flu. The government is trying to take over our lives."
I wasn't really expecting to hear this. I didn't know how to respond. I remained neutral and said, "I can tell you feel passionate about what you believe." Almost before I got those words out of my mouth, he said, "I love my country and hate what's happening, you know/" He kept saying, "you know." I didn't know. I didn't agree with him. I finally said, "Well I agree with you that I hate what's happening. What do you think is a starting point for repairing the fissures between people?" I asked.
"We've got to stop fighting and find some compromises."
"This could be a good start," I replied.
I realized after this brief conversation that I'd lumped persons with this man's viewpoints into a whole. As "them." Yet here was someone right in front of me, a well-intentioned man with a soul and a family. A life. He could have been my brother. While I disagreed with him on many points, I could attempt to see the country through his eyes. Increase my empathy toward him. Formulate a gentle reply when I disagreed, rather than get defensive. Ask open-ended questions. See him as a person, not as "them." Seek to understand, rather than to be understood. Love my brother amidst the contrasts, both of us a mysterious array of light and dark.
Grief tilts you.~Matt Haig (From How To Stop Time)
It doesn't feel like Valentine's Day. I'm sitting amidst unopened boxes at my new location. I am up high on the second floor of the room that will eventually be my place to write. Rain is streaming down the windows. The day is lit with gray glare. My desk is cluttered with papers and folders. Framed pictures not yet hung. I am tilted on this day of love, bent over with the chaos associated with moving, but also tilted with grief. One of my dear friends lost a family member to COVID-19. The man was only fifty. He left behind a wife, four children, his parents, my friend and countless extended family, friends and colleagues. The family invited me to watch the memorial service online. I could not stop my tears when this man's twenty-year-old son stood and spoke of his father's love and generosity. This beautiful man who looks so much like my friend, honored his father. His voice did not tremble. His eyes bright with courage.
This loss is incomprehensible to me.
The pastor conducting the service said he felt the same. Tilted. The pastor said he tossed and turned on his bed one night soon after the loss and vented to God, "Why? Why oh why did this good man in the prime of his life have to die?" He said he was led to the gospel of John:6: 66-69. And so from that time on many of the disciples turned their backs on Jesus and refused to be associated with him. So Jesus said to his twelve, "And you--do you also want to leave?" Peter spoke up and said, "But Lord, where would we go? No one but you gives us the revelation of eternal life. We're fully convinced that you are the Anointed One, the Son of the Living God, and we believe in you!
Even though I sit in my grief and lament on this Valentine's Day and mourn with this precious family, I agree with Peter, "Where else would I go?"
The Lord is close to all whose hearts are crushed by pain...even when bad things happen to the good and godly ones, the Lord will save them and not let them be defeated by what they face.~Psalm 34:18-19
He said he'd like to turn a doorknob. Pema (his mentor) was surprised. "Turn a doorknob?"
"I haven't opened or closed a door for more than thirty-five years. I would like to open my own doors and be free in that way."~From The Buddhist On Death Row by David Sheff
I just finished the first book I've read in 2021, The Buddhist On Death Row. I'm off to a slow start with reading. Usually I read a book a week. But the new year began with transitions. I wrote to a fellow blogger, apologizing that I'd not been more engaged with her posts. She graciously responded, "Transitions are hard." They are. I'm still finding the rhythm of this new town. The new library. Where to walk. The flow of my home that echoes with emptiness as we sold a lot of our furniture before moving in. These are not huge issues in the scheme of life, yet I've struggled with the changes. While I'm not Buddhist, I found solace in reading this man's story. His voice rang true in how he transcended his reality--living on death row, convicted and sentenced for a crime he did not commit. He could not turn actual doorknobs, yet he could close and enter doors in his mind. I have this choice too.
I woke one morning last week and looked out my new bedroom window. A white swan floated on the pond. I ran down the stairs and exclaimed to my husband, "Usually there are the brown and black geese swimming in the pond, but today I saw a white swan. Isn't that amazing?" My husband responded, "Well, Priscilla, contain your excitement. I read in the condo newsletter that they've placed fake swans on the ponds to repel the geese. They don't want the waste the geese leave to disrupt the ph balance in the ponds." The knowledge that this plastic swan had faked me out, left me feeling hollow.
The fraudulent swan, though, was a gentle reminder to adjust my expectations regarding change. When I worked as a counselor, I would often remind the clients with whom I collaborated that any change, good or bad, is challenging. Part of finding joy in change is to practice what psychologist, Marsha Linahan, refers to as "radical acceptance"--opening one's palms to "what is." I could practice accepting the changes by turning virtual doorknobs that opened portals of gratefulness, positivity and prayerfulness.
A loved one of mine who lives in Texas said to me in a phone conversation last week, "We lived in the dark and cold for days. When we finally got to a place with power and water, I climbed into bed, my mind racing with all I had to do, my anxiety at an all time high. I cried out to God. What do I do, Lord?" She went on, "I immediately felt peaceful and sensed He responded, 'Just enjoy the warmth. And rest. That's all for now.'"
This morning I awakened with a start, the sunrise glimmering orange and pink through my bedroom window, the fake swan still bobbing on the water. I laughed to see that four live geese fed on the grass near the pond.
"Artist Makoto Fujimura is a student of kintsugi--'golden repair'--the Japenese art of mending broken ceramics with laquer mixed with precious metals, restoring a bowl or cup to wholeness and function while highlighting, rather than masking, the fractures. Objects repaired by kintsugi masters are often stunningly beautiful, veined with gold, silver, or platinum that trace a history of traumatic destruction and sublime redemption."~Julie Polter (From the article God Is In The Making, Sojourners, February, 2021)
I found my way back to the page earlier than anticipated. Perhaps because my sabbatical from writing each week became more than I could bear. I ran back to the page almost like I would run toward the daylight. Writing is warmth for me, a constant and loyal companion.
When I read of Makoto Fujimura's art of "golden repair," I matched the concept with my own experience with the art of writing. When I've encountered life-fracturing events, writing has acted like the laquer mixed with gold, silver or platinum to mend the broken places. The crack has not been cosmetically removed, but rather curated into something beautiful. Something better. In a society where we often discard cracked things or attempt to cover up the fractured place, this type of restoration might even be considered too good to be true, likened to the grace of God.
Perhaps moving forward in 2021, we consider the concept of "golden repair," as we face the collective fissures not only of our culture, but also of our individual lives. Often art is the way to practice the mending. As you move through this year, consider playing your instrument, writing your songs, tending your garden, creating recipes or writing poems. Creating beauty could be likened to the precious metals added to the lacquer that holds a life together.
I am attempting to "practice what I preach." I've started writing a new novel. How many times has my "censor" come at me and said, "Why do you even bother? You have no business trying to write another book. You're tapped out. Nothing else to offer." Yes, I've my share of cracks and fractures. Yet I will pick up a brush and dip into the lacquer mixed with poetic prose and practice the art of "golden repair" to create something that might bring more wholeness, more hope, more mercy to this fractured world. If you are interested, read a scene from my novel in progress, (working title: These Dreams I Remember Well) that was featured in Free Flash Fiction: Night Maps