Choosing Life

No, this is not about abortion...

Recently I have been struck by the important choices before me and people I love. I am contemplating whether to pursue formal seminary or non-traditional spiritual training. Brendan and Kiki are in the throes of choosing which colleges to attend. Dear friends are choosing whether to move far away for a new career opportunity (yes, opportunities still exist). Most compelling of all, another friend's loved one has chosen to move "home" to die.

Each of these choices are quite different and yet similar in that they hold an opportunity for moving toward life. (Perhaps especially the man moving "home.") Frequently, I create a self-imposed burden of making the "right" choice...driving myself and others a bit crazy with the perfectionist pressure of it all ( you need to be feeling for Malcolm right about now). And yet, maybe it isn't what we choose, but how we respond to our choices that matters most.

Yes, I want to take time to "BE STILL," waiting to choose from the wisdom of stillness (that alone is a monumental task for some of us). Yes, I want to seek the counsel of sagacious souls before deciding. Yes, I hope for a sense of peace about my choice. And yet I wonder, unless it is intentionally harmful to others, is there really a wrong choice?

My brother Mike had great advice for Brendan and Kiki, "College is what you make of it no matter where you go." The friend who is discerning about moving her family realized, "we could be happy either place." Could we carry these messages into our choosing? Life is what we make of it...happiness is possible anywhere-even in economically difficult times.

Sometimes we are fortunate and the path is evident with relative ease. When we were choosing to move to Alabama, Kiki was positive she would love St. Bernard High School and she has. At the same time, Brendan was not so sure, and yet he has had an equally wonderful experience. Surety and clarity is a gift. Choosing from that place is like life reaching her pulsing palm and pulling us toward fullness. It just isn't that simple many times.

When I reflect on many of the important choices I have made, frequently the experience of living out that choice was quite different from my anticipated experience of it (Kind of like results of those financial plans I helped create back in the 80's and early 90's). And so perhaps imagining what our choice will be like is over-rated. Sure we want to do our homework. But, could the "trick" be in letting go of the expectation of how things will be once we have made our choice?

Choosing life means choosing to fully experience the process of discerning and living into the choices with an open heart and an open mind. Come to think of it, we are all experiencing this moment in this way, as a result of lots of small and big choices over the course of our lifetimes.

Burning Down the House

OK-it is that time of year when we Christians have an opportunity to spring clean our souls. Last night our priest shared a Buddhist parable about a monk's house burning down and the monk's response was, "Great! Now I have a better view of the sunrise."

This story has stuck with me all day as I ponder what is standing in the way of my view right now? Unfortunately my view-blocker is not a simple, two-story home, but more of a New York skyscraper.

Here I am again, standing at Lent's open door ready to walk in with great intentions. Yet I am fully aware that if I'm lucky to live to next Lent, many of my future obstructions will be the exact same as this year's. How can I be so sure? Experience.

In can be tough to remain optimistic in the face of such grim history. It is daunting to attempt to burn down the entire structure. Perhaps if I focus on one room-hmmmm there are lots to choose from--pride, control, approval,... I will be that much closer to the sunrise next year. Besides, if I accurately remember that Lenten/Easter story, I'm not doing this alone

Antidotes for the Economic Blues

Let's face it, fear, doom and gloom are pervading our societal consciousness. Given the current state of things, what can we do to combat a case of the "Economic Blues?" As one who can be susceptible to this insidious disease, here are some antidotes that have helped.

• Find someone, or an organization we care about and offer our talents in a meaningful way. It is amazing how healing it can be to "get outside ourselves." Besides, we need to do something with all of that time we used to spend shopping.
  
• Count your blessings. Mom knew what she was talking about. Keep a gratitude journal by starting or ending your day making a list of people/places...anything for which you are grateful. Just last week I heard the story of a woman who found her way back from a deep depression and one of the tools that helped her was grabbing a journal and writing about what was good in her life, before her feet even hit the floor.
  
• Pray...you can use Anne Lamott's favorite, "HELP ME! HELP ME!" or perhaps a version of the Julian of Norwich prayer: "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well." I have found ranting cathartic at times. I hope I am right in my belief that God can take it. Make it your own, the important part is to take time to be still with that Higher Power and remember that no matter what happens, we are not alone.
• Laugh-call a friend who is sure to make you smile. Add comedies to your Netflix cue. Check out a funny book at the library. (I just finished Lamb: the Gospel according to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal. It is hysterical, but for those who like a sanitized Jesus I must warn you, this book is highly irreverent. I also hope I am right in believing Jesus has a sense of humor!)

The downturn in the economy is unsettling and downright frightening for some. I wonder if we can draw any strength from courageous friends who have inspired us by the way they faced a serious medical diagnosis. What is it about their responses that inspire us? For me, it is their ability to find meaning in the muck, laugh in spite of fear and pain, and their laser-sharp clarity about what is truly valuable.

Markers of Time

The whistle blew and the referee ran over to the scorer's table barking out, "blue three two," my son Brendan's number. Then the head scorer at the table raised his hand, all five fingers stretched out indicating Brendan had fouled out mid-way through the third period. Multiple whistles blew and Brendan began to walk off the court, shoulders slouched and disappointment written all over his face....his final high school game. It was a hard way to end his high school sports career--down by more than 20 points, fouling out, shots weren't sinking, and playing far from his home court.

We knew the day would come when this chapter in his, and our lives would come. What I wasn't prepared for was how hard it would be to hold back the tears. Perched in the top row of the tiny gym at Parkway Christian Academy, the last thing I wanted to do was embarrass Brendan, or me by letting the faucet flow.

I wanted to stand up and cheer; I wanted to go over to the bench and hug him; I wanted to tell him it wasn't all defined by this one moment. Any one of those responses would have drawn the scorn of a mortified young man. No, I put my game face on and when the parent in front of me kindly commented, "Without him this game is over" I simply smiled and suggested the team might still pull it off when every part of me wanted to scream, "This is harder than I thought it would be."

One more step toward independence. One more marker of time. One more "good-bye" in a year filled with "good-byes."

In the car on the way home I sat in the back so Brendan could dissect the game with Malcolm if he wanted. Silence escorted us most of the 90 minute ride home. At one point I patted his shoulder, "Thank you for putting yourself out there and playing your heart out all of these years. I am proud of you and have loved watching you play." "Uh huh." Was his only response.

Brendan walked into Chick-Fil-A to attempt to fill that endless pit called, "teenage male stomach" and I squeeked from the backseat, "I just want to cry and cry and cry." Malcolm reached back for my hand, "Go ahead and cry baby." And I did, but when I saw Brendan lumbering out of restaurant I wiped the tears away and felt grateful for the darkness of night.

Another step toward independence for Brendan. Another step toward a new chapter for Malcolm and me.