The next chapter

“Don’t buy me any green bananas,” my mother likes to say. We are celebrating her 95^th birthday tomorrow, and she jokes that she might not live to see green bananas ripen. On the other hand, she bought a new dishwasher this week.

Her optimism is a constant reminder to me to welcome each day, to embrace what life brings and to look forward to whatever is coming down the road.

For the most part, my mother does what she wants; she is fiercely independent. When I once called her stubborn, she said, “Don’t call me stubborn. I am not stubborn. I just know what I want.”

And when she knows what she wants, she goes for it with gusto, not caring one whit what others think.

In many ways, I am like my mother (my younger brother likes to point to us and say, tree…apple), but I don’t have her self-assurance in going after what I want; I am easily swayed by the desires and opinions of others.

I am at a crossroads in my life. It is a familiar place because I was basically at the same place a year ago. I made a decision then, announced my decision and then did not follow through because I was dissuaded by what someone else wanted. Ugh.

Again this year, I have come to the same decision about my future, and when I told a friend, she said, “You already made that decision,” sounding like she was speaking to a fickle child. Yes, I make and remake the same decisions. I move toward a new direction and then step back; it is tedious.

I feel stuck at the crossroads. This is one of those ways I wish I was more like my mother—decide and then do it, others’ opinions be damned.

I recently found a note I had written at the beginning of last year, asking, What do I need to do, believe in or allow for myself? It was probably a message to bolster my decision, and it is still relevant.

Serenity

I frequently pray this version of the serenity prayer.

Its directness makes it difficult to miss the message. I can only change me, and when I am thinking about how other people need to change, I am on the wrong path.

It is easier to look at the mistakes others are making, to see their stubbornness, selfishness and lack of self-awareness than to look at myself. And yet I know others can look at me and see my mistakes, stubbornness, selfishness and lack of self-awareness.

Some of my friends point out these flaws, and even if I am defensive in the moment, they know that I really do want to hear, because it is only when I become aware of these blind spots that I have any hope of changing.

A friend reminded me the other day of her nickname for me—Our Lady of Perpetual Motion. She is right; I have a hard time sitting still, of doing nothing, of relaxing. When I find myself wanting to say to others, you need to sit down and relax, I know that I am also talking to myself.

Hold that mirror a little closer, I tell myself.

When my mother had a heart attack two years ago, she was in hospital for a week and then went to a rehab facility, where all she could do was complain. She was feeling better than when she entered the hospital, and she just wanted to come home. But the truth was that she needed to regain her strength. That was a truth she did not want to hear or accept, and she made everyone’s life miserable until she got an early release (I think the rehab staff was happy to see her go).

While in rehab, I suggested she try to imagine she was on a cruise, with a private room and a lovely courtyard outside her window. Her meals were delivered, she had a personal trainer and a world-class gym. Where can I sign up? I joked, although I know that accepting a hospital or rehab stay gracefully can only happen when we accept our vulnerability and lack of control.

Admitting her vulnerability and giving up control are two things that do not come easy to my mother. Me neither, if I am being honest.

I know that my cruise image is as much for me and my future as it was for my mom—trying to implant this picture deep in my brain for the day when I might need to go to rehab.

Looking ahead, I can anticipate my own resistance, my inability to accept my vulnerability and give up control. I want to change that in me now so that when the time comes, I will be more willing to accept what others believe to be best for me.

Reminding myself that I am the only person I can change is a step in that direction.

Maybe today, I will just sit myself down and relax for a while.

Reflections from a day of kayaking

Two friends invited me to go kayaking on the Thornapple River in central Michigan, and I gladly accepted.

Kayaking is one of my favorite outdoor activities because it offers an easy way to be on the water surrounded by nature. Kayaking requires minimal strength, and on the Thornapple River, the current did most of the work. We had to steer around some fallen trees and other debris, but the water was relatively calm and the trip downriver peaceful.

Photo from Southwest Michigan Land Conservancy

Nature gifted us with sightings of deer along the riverbank and herons standing in the water. There were more turtles than I could count, lounging on fallen logs along the river’s edge.  

Being carried along by the current, I rested my paddle and looked up into the canopy created by the trees. Although mostly green, a few had started to change to fall colors and some leaves even fell into the kayak along the way.

I remembered a meditation about trees and how they change every season without resistance.

They seem to trust that even though their leaves are dying now and they will be dormant over winter, in the spring, new leaves will bud and grow to cover them again. Every year the cycle repeats itself, and the trees move naturally through the cycle. They don’t resist the changes—the death of autumn or the new growth of spring. They just do what trees do, living the cycles of their lives.

Be the tree, I said to myself. Let go of what needs to die and trust that something new will grow in spring.

When I lowered my eyes and looked at the trees at water level, I realized that the riverbank had eroded, and the roots of most of the trees were exposed. I wondered if that exposure weakens the trees and makes them more vulnerable.

The words of St. Paul came to me: When I am weak, then I am strong (2 Corinthians 12:10).

Be the tree, I said to myself again. Let your roots be exposed and risk vulnerability.

Yes, I thought, I want to be like trees and let go easily. I want to accept the changes of life as they come and move gracefully through each season. I want to let my vulnerabilities show, to be less certain and more open, less fearful and more trusting.

A little further down the river, I had the opportunity to lean into my vulnerability—I fell into the water in a less than dignified way. I was not hurt—just drenched. And like the time I had to climb a tree to get over a barbed-wire fence in England three years ago, I was grateful no one was videotaping the escapade.

Letting go of my pride and laughing at myself moves me along the path to humility, the path of accepting my vulnerability. Those few minutes of embarrassment were part of the hours of peaceful contentment kayaking down the river, helping me be the tree and embrace whatever comes.

Resistance

About fifteen years ago, I got a bike as a Christmas gift. It is an expensive bike, with twenty-four speeds! It is not what I would have chosen—I would have picked one of those no-gear granny bikes with a wicker basket on front. I don’t even need hand-brakes. But this is the bike I got and still have.

I have thought of giving it away or selling it and buying a less-complicated bike, but I haven’t.

While riding last night, it occurred to me that I am resistant to this bike. I have not embraced it, appreciated it for the gift it is. Why is that? I wondered.

Resistance is a funny thing. Sometimes it can be so obvious, but other times it can be subtle.

My first spiritual director often made suggestions that she thought would be helpful. She suggested I pray for fifteen minutes at the same time every day, and she sometimes suggested books. I usually said, “No, thanks,” or said nothing and didn’t do what she suggested.

One of her book recommendations was An Interrupted Life by Etty Hillesum.

A year or so later, a women in my book club proposed this book. The title sounded vaguely familiar, but like most things I resist, I had blocked it from my mind and did not recall that this was the book my spiritual director had recommended.

The book was transformational (and I highly recommend it). At some point, though, I remembered that this was the same book that I had refused to read.

Why had I been resistant to this book? Why am I resistant to nonfiction in general? Am I afraid I will be invited to change?“Stubbornness is not a virtue,” my current spiritual director recently told me. I didn’t think it was, even though I often act as if it is.

Stubborn is just another word for resistance. There are others: obstinate, pig-headed, inflexible….None of which I want to be.

But, there I was last night, riding my bike, when it occurred to me that I am resistant to this gift. This resistance is much more subtle; it has taken me fifteen years to even see it!

I think the bike says something about me which is not true. I think the bike says, I am a serious bike rider, which I am not. The most I ever ride is five miles, and at a leisurely pace. When people invite me to go for bike rides, I decline. I fear I could not keep up and that I would be a burden.

And there it is—fear of disappointing.

How much of my resistance is connected to my fear of disappointing or fear of failure?God invites me to move against my resistance—to welcome, accept and embrace what is offered. To look at the world through eyes of awe, wonder and amazement. God invites me to say yes to all that life offers. Accept the bike, I told myself. Embrace the bike.

 

 

 

God is in charge

Surrender to God and he will do everything for you. Antiphon in the Liturgy of the Hours Office of Readings for Tuesday of Holy Week.

I can easily forget that God is in charge. In my relationships, my work, my volunteer activities and life in general, I can think that I am running the show and that everything depends on me. And then I can feel burdened, pressured to perform and sometimes overwhelmed.

Breathe, Madeline, I tell myself when I am feeling overwhelmed. You are not God. Everything does not depend on you. Surrender. Let God be God. Trust God.God reminds me all that I do really belongs to God. I have a part, but it is just a part. My job is to add my piece to bringing about the Kingdom—in some small way. I need to remember that God holds the whole picture.

Letting go and believing that God really is in charge challenges my trust and control issues.

I am a doer by nature, someone who jumps in and gets things done. I like accomplishing things, and I like challenges. The bigger the challenge, the more I enjoy it.

There is a line, though, between using my gifts and talents to further a mission and believing that my gifts and talents are the only thing that can accomplish the mission.

My personality type on the Enneagram is the Eight, also known as The Challenger. The Eight is said to be “powerful, dominating, self-confident, decisive, willful and confrontational.”  Oh yeah, that’s me for sure.

God seems to play off my Eightness, my innate love of a challenge. My work life has been a succession of small nonprofits that were facing uphill battles. It is as if God hears me repeatedly saying, “Put me in, Coach,” even though I don’t remember ever saying it. But, once I am in, I am all in, taking responsibility and getting things done.

When I start to feel overwhelmed, though, I know that I have moved from being a doer to being a controller. It is then that I need to surrender to God and trust that he will do everything for me. It is then that I need to remember that God is really in charge.My goal is to keep balance—to acknowledge my gifts and skills while remembering that the work is ultimately God’s. When I can let go and trust that God is in charge, my work and my life run smoother. Obstacles diminish; perspective is restored.

A Biblical image that helps me regain balance and trust is of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego who were put into a fiery furnace because they would not turn from God and bow to the King. But rather than being burned God sends an angel to deliver them because they trusted God (Daniel 3:95)

Blessed be the God of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, who sent his angel to deliver the servants who trusted in him. God, send your angel to me.

Mercy and compassion

Pope Francis has declared 2016 a Year of Mercy.

A friend told me she has been pondering the connection between compassion and mercy. She had read that compassion is being with and mercy is doing for. If that is true, than the Year of Mercy will suit me because I am much more inclined to be a doing for kind of person than a being with.

The question then becomes, “For whom will I do something?” which is closely followed by “What will I do?”

Every year, my parish participates in a shelter program for people who are homeless, this year offering overnight hospitality to twenty-five men during the week after Christmas. Like many shelter programs, the people go out during the day and return in the evening. But on New Year’s Day, the men were able to stay in for the day. I signed up to be a “host” for the afternoon.

It seemed a good way to spend New Year’s Day of the Year of Mercy.

I have volunteered at emergency shelters and meal programs in the past, and I have been on the verge of homelessness twice in my life.

I say “on the verge” because my homelessness was short-lived and connected with my living in another country; transitional homelessness is how I think of it. In both situations, I was fortunate to have friends who helped me find places to live, but the experiences gave me some insight into the vulnerability of not having a permanent place to live and helped me be more empathetic toward people who are homeless.

During that time of transition, I learned a lot about vulnerability and pride.

A woman who lived across the street from me and knew my situation offered me food from her pantry, but I was too proud to accept her charity and instead went to a local church pantry. When she found out I had gone to the church, she chastised me for being too proud and pointed out that I was willing to take charity from strangers but not from someone who knew and cared about me. She was right and I was humbled. The next time I needed food, I “shopped” in her pantry. It was very humbling.

That experience helped me to see that mercy needs both a generous giver and an open receiver. I was not open, and in the process, I prevented her from being able to be merciful. I had been given the opportunity to allow someone to be generous, and I said no. It was a powerful lesson, and one that I have tried to hold close to the surface of my awareness.

Mercy needs to be both offered and received.

So in this Year of Mercy, I want to be open to opportunities to do for others, to show mercy. I also pray to be humble enough to allow others to do for me, to receive mercy.