peace and war

Maybe it is all the talk of war on television.

Maybe it is all the talk of war on the radio.

Maybe it is the paper I just submitted.

Maybe it is my answer to the recent question, "how is your brother doing?"

I have war on my mind.

The year before my Oma died, we gathered together at her home in Florida.

My brother was in Iraq.

My sister was in California.

It was Christmas Eve.

We were together in the living room, our conversations tangled together.

Oma started talking, her body postured on the edge of her chair - eyes looking off beyond the room.

She recounted pieces of her experiences during WWII in the Netherlands...the narrative obviously vivid in her waning memory.

Standing pressed against the outer wall of a flat on her way to get food while bombs fell around her, felling a tree while soldiers came around to take neighbors away

Opa in the Underground and hiking to nearby farms in search of sugarbeets (all rumors).

Starvation

Receiving lab rats from friends - intended for consumption.

Rope on bike tires instead of rubber tires...

Death

The talk of war - so fascinating and so tragic.

Oma's heart is broken, she said, by what she sees on television and hears in the news

She doesn't see war as the answer and grieves for my brother's involvement.

Grieving in a way reserved only for those who have lived and lost long ago.

She stopped speaking as abruptly as she started.

"Silent night, holy night. All is calm. All is bright..."

 She sang.

Because that is what my Oma does.

She sings.

War is a part of our present.

War is a part of our past.

No matter how near or how far.

War leaves scars and wounds that even time cannot heal.

But somehow, in the midst of it all, we still remain hopeful and fervent in our quest to find

Peace amidst war.

my favorite word

If I ever had to identify a favorite word, I might choose

perichoresis

{describing the mutual interconnectedness and indwelling quality of the Trinity - Jesus, God, and the Holy Spirit}

I've no reason to use it in everyday conversation but I do find myself reciting it under my breath.

{sometimes}

I think I like the way it rolls off my tongue.

I first learned the word when I was in graduate school {round one}

And while it is used primarily to describe the nature of the Trinity, I admit I have taken the liberty to translate its meaning into a broader application.  

Specifically, the concept of knowing and being oneself {we are who we are} 

in the embrace and interconnectedness of those "other" than us.

I have a friend who, during her ordination process, used the word {perichoretic} in her statement of faith.  When she was asked about it, she used an illustration from her wedding {a wreath} to describe the concept - this idea of two becoming one.  

The fullness and beauty of bringing together seemingly disparate materials.

Inextricably linked.

 

I feel encouraged to pursue the inherent value of putting ourselves out there with the "other" 

- of subjecting ourselves to the perils of being in relationships with those who are other than us - 

in an attempt to realize our own strength and potential.

I love it.

scared scared scared

Friends have made the decision to embark on the adventure of a significant move.

They, like us, have 2 kids under the age of 7.

And my friend asked if I had any insight for her about how to tell the kids.

I put together a whole list of recommendations, using the hats of both therapist and friend.

My oldest son was sitting nearby playing a video game as I set about to respond.

I thought it would be fun to check with him - 

to see what insight he might have.

{after all, we are close family friends and he is only one week younger than their oldest}

This is what he said:

You know, I think I would feel scared scared scared and when I feel scared scared scared, I like it when you let me feel that way and...help me remember that when I feel that way it always turns out okay - and most of the time it's actually really fun!  [pauses here to shoot a "bad guy"] Also, I would want to go to a restaurant for lunch when you tell me. And I think it would be good if I got to pick out some of my favorite toys to take in the car to move with me so I could play with them the whole way there...

{And then he went back to his video game}

His words have kind of stuck with me all week and I think, 

beyond the ease with which he responded, 

the thing about his response that is most striking to me is

his ability to put himself in his friend's shoes {empathy} and offer an articulate recommendation for managing the feelings that would come with such a scenario.

Even at his age, when faced with stress or change, his response highlights the desire to have someone:

Listen

Validate

Normalize

Distract

Definitely strategies to live by

wedding bells

I attended a wedding today.

(not this one)

After the bride and groom said their vows, the minister turned to the congregation and said:

Families, friends and all those gathered here with [the bride and groom], will you support and care for them, sustain and pray for them in times of trouble, give thanks with them in times of joy, honor the bonds of their covenant, and affirm the love of God reflected in their life together?

{We will}

I love this part of weddings. 

I recognize it may often be just-another-part-of -the-wedding-ritual

but

I love what it represents and 

I take it seriously.

It is hard to do sometimes.

To let people into the good and the not-so-good parts of one's marriage.

Those parts are sometimes difficult to manage within the confines of a relationship, 

let alone to offer others a view.

 

But when I respond

{I will}

I say it with conviction and inevitably inquire later.

Because you asked me to make a vow - 

to be an active, communal participant in upholding your covenant. 

{I will}

the limbo bench

In Lament for a Son Nicholas Wolsterstorff writes about the mourning bench.

The gift of someone willing to sit on the bench with you.

Not (necessarily) saying anything. Not trying to make you feel better. 

To just sit and be present with you in the fullness of your grief.

Lately I have come to identify another bench in life: the limbo bench.

You could call it the transition bench, the liminal bench, the bench in-between.

Whatever you call it, sitting there can feel overwhelming and uncomfortable.

{Never-ending}

Sitting on the bench can be lonely.

I have a friend who is really good at sitting with me on the limbo bench.

A friend who is unfazed by the inevitable slips into the depths of self-doubt.

A friend who doesn't try and offer answers to the questions uttered on the bench.

A friend who doesn't set out to make me "feel better."

A friend who just sits with me on the bench...

in the fullness of my impatience and fatigue of the in-between.

{We sit together on the bench}

We laugh. We cry. We are silent.

We sit. 

In limbo

Together.