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The Universal Memoir that wrote itself

When my friend read the draft of this, she wept.

The nutshell is this:
I wanted to write a story that captured my story.

Recently, I was intrigued by the phenomenon of “The 6 Word Memoir” idea. I like that idea that you can share a lot about your self quickly.

It’s poetry, really. (But that word scares -some-people.)

I’ve also felt nudged to write a memoir myself. But on which part of my life? There’s a lot of drama!

And really, I don’t have the fortitude to cover the seriously painful parts of my life. It wrecks me. I see why people just hire editors for that sort of thing. But, those are the parts that offer the best memoir material.

Also, any successful memoir is written by a famous or infamous person that has a following of some sort. The other kind of written for family member to read. The only reason I want to create one, or a few (it’s not an autobiography I’m interested in, mind you) is because have so many stories that beg me to tell them. To birth them into the world. But, it’s a lot like yelling into the void or dancing alone in a hall of mirrors.

And then the idea hit me to write a short story that was a kind of universal memoir.

In the same spirit as The Little Prince and Where the Wild Things Are I started writing something and in about a day and a half it was done. It was gestating for a long while. Years. (And of course, I just mean the first draft was done.) But, in truth, the story came out in nearly one whole piece. That never really happens.

So, now, I’m in the final stages with the layout. Gorgeous photos are in place. Illustrations are forthcoming. It’s a passion project and those sort of things have to be done independently–not for the publishing industry Machine.

Since an ebook can be done so easily, that bit should be available semi-soon and I’ll list it for free or a low cost. But, the nature of this book is not good for that format. It’s just NOT the sort of book. It won’t “work” 100% if it’s only digitally available. It should be material.

It should be held and kept by the bed table. Read to children who turn its pages and hear the sounds of the paper, and feel the texture on their little fingers. It should hold the occasional tear puddle like some of my Narnia books, and my Little Prince book have. It should be beautiful and lasting and not just a click away.

And for adults it promises to have the same magic of the classic stories read to them once in the twilight nights of warm summers when the lighting bugs danced, and everything was possible.

 

So, I’m going to raise money and self-publish with art book quality as a short run. You can join me in this leg of the journey.

Here is the cover.
(Stop by within a week and see another spread.)RExsneakpeak

I’ll gave you more details soon.

This temple Site pre-dates civilization, itself

220px-GobeklitepeHeykelAs promised, I’m giving you a summary of the Wesley Forum I attended on April 7.

Lecturer Dr Ben Witherington focused his 3 lectures on The Imago Dei (Image of God)

The 1st session had to do with the Imago Dei seen through archeology.

He spoke about the huge dig at a high place found in Turkey, in 1993, called Gobeckli (click for amazing National Geographic photos and info).

This is probably one of the most significant discoveries since the Rosetta Stone–and I hadn’t even heard of it. Have you?

It invalidates the typical (secular) ideas of how religious and spiritual life emerged among humans.

 

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Social Anthropologists have, until now, thought that religion came after people began farming and wanted to gain control of their unpredictable environment.

It worked like this…so they thought…

• Human stumbles on a new kind of mutated wheat that be more easily harvested.

• They kept the seeds and settled in areas to raise crops.

• They struggled against the harsh elements and began to think of wind, sun, rain, etc as superpowers (i.e. gods)…(superstitious folks).

• They tried to please and apprise the gods to gain better circumstances…and…

• Boom…religion.

You’ve heard this theory before, right?

 

To Witherington, this recent discovery shows that the need to reconcile with the divine is part of the human experience, not an invention that came at the advent of the agricultural age.

The religion of these high places helped begin civilization, not the other way around.

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The oldest part of the Gobeckli site is dated to 10,000-12,000 years ago and is the oldest temple ever found in the world.

That’s old…but how old?

Wrap your brain around this!

It was created before people were living in villages, farming, and before they had domesticated any animals (sheep, dogs, cattle, etc).

People were wandering, gathering, hunting, and trying to connect to the divine…the whole time.

As the highest point in the region and situated between the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers, I can’t help but wonder if Cain and Able used this very place. It could be just east of Eden. (LD)

Now, think of the age of this place this way:

The site dates to about 6,000 years before the Great Pyramids were created. It’s a time that precedes writing, by thousands of years.

And yes, it’s pre-Noah and the flood.

Giant monoliths, the largest weighing about 50 tons (¡ yikes !), depict a host of detailed carvings of animals. There are  also some stylized carvings of people dressed in priestly vestments. Even more tremendous are the enormous erected stones which have holes drilled into them to tie up animals.

But, remember this is a pre-bronze age. Pre-iron age.

How long did it take to make a hole such as this in this rock with just another rock?

These structures are made in a sophisticated fashion. Cave people were smarter than we assume.

It’s astonishing.

 

birds

 

But there are not just 1 of these 30 m. circles with 13 massive stones …they have found 17 of them.

Each takes about 3 years to unearth. (Things are just starting to get interesting! In 50 years they still will not be finish. Much more surprises could be in store.)

Here’s the wikipeda article about the site.

According to archeologists on the dig, the site was eventually backfilled (purposefully) at a point in human development when villages were being established. It seems that local temples were used at that point.

 

NOTE: (Witherington believes they were not backfilled purposefully, but that the flood (in Noah’s time) moved sand up to the place from the Tigris River. I, personally, think that the flood would have ruined them and that they were indeed backfilled purposefully [for what specific reason, I don’t know]. To me, this burying is what preserved them so well so we could now find them intact. It’s a crazy amount of work to do such a thing, and I don’t know how they could, but the whole site baffles our understanding, so I haven’t ruled it out.)

 

Dr Witherington concludes that because of the image of God within us, we desire to commune with God (or gods). We always have.

All the ancient people groups had 3 things:

1. Temples

2. Priests

3. Sacrifices

 

I will elaborate more on the lectures in the next post and include some of my notes from the other 2 sessions.

Read PART II

Read PART III

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Save-the-Date: Next Trip to Narnia

Here’s what some of the previous retreat-goers said about the experience:

 

retreafolks

To learn more or sign up, join the Retreat list click HERE.

JESCTR

 

THE STORY…

Suppose you found a place…like Narnia…a magical parallel place…

This happened to me, and the only way it makes sense to tell you about it is to tell you that the land of Narnia comes to mind.

I spotted no White Witch, but I’m certain that Aslan was on the move!

I keep going back and it keeps getting better.

I’ve tried to sketch out something of what it’s like with my words. My strings of syllables are full of adjectives and I start to gush and make a fool of myself.

These words and my intensions fall short. Maybe a photo will help, I think. No, not really.

I try to tell people about it and say “come and join me”. Several of my closest friends knew to trust me and come “in faith” and it turns out that you sort of “catch something” while you’re there that draws you back again and again.

Yes, I can say, it’ll be restful, or I can say, it’ll be refreshing, or life-changing, or amazing…and of course I sound a little crazy because I’m making such a big deal about it.

But, I hope it doesn’t seem so absurd.

When you are really thirsty, water sounds wonderful.

Yet, it’s only when you taste it that you are satisfied.

Maybe you have some kind of deeper thirst. Then come!

 

~ABOUT THIN PLACES~

A “thin place” is where you see this dominion of the kingdom of God come into clearer focus.

And dominion doesn’t refer to a location per se, or sometimes at all.

 

There, the world as you know it grows strangely dimmer and smaller. You notice a threshold that separates heaven and earth too much. It seems much thinner.

This thin place can even be manifest in a person.

When you are near him or her, you sense something greater at work in a richer and more powerful unseen reality. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but you know it’s real. There is weight there.

The epitome of that is, of course, the Son of God. Jesus was the thinnest place of all when he walked among us.He is our model. 

But a thin place is a location too, right?

Yes, sometimes a you sense a thin place in a location that has been somehow, or intentionally, consecrated and set apart for apprehending the deeper realities of existence. A house of worship. A garden. A home where love abides. A bookstore. A mountain perch. A bench at the beach. Everyone has probably felt a thin place, at some point.

(If you have, let me know where in the comments section)

 

The retreat center were I go at least 3-5 times a year is one such thin place. If you haven’t gone to a place like this, it’s nearly impossible to convince you that being there, just being, will improve your life.

I’m left “pitching the benefits” to you, like a giddy salesgirl, because conveying the actual experience is so obtuse and ethereal.

Postcards, paper ones or verbal ones, never really share a place properly. 

I have a plan to return soon
Your story will unfold in new ways there.

I’ll be the guide. I’ll show you the grounds and acquaint you with the places for quiet reflection and rejuvenation, and provide you with some devotional reading and prayer material to guide your time, if you want the structure. I’ll get you started and you’ll have nothing else to do but enjoy yourself. 

Are you thirsty?

We’ll meet for a (provided) hot lunch at 12:30, than after we will “gather the graces” we’ve been given, and leave for home when the time seems right. It could be the half day that changes your life. The cost is a tiny $15.

Let me know if you’re interested by signing up HERE, and I’ll prepare a spot for you and send details.

To be on the update list, click HERE.

Faith = a Basket of Eggs: In Tribute to David A. Dorsey

eggs

 

So, a dear man died one week ago. Dave, to his students (because he preferred this), and Dr David Dorsey, PhD officially. On Tuesday the chapel was packed for his funeral as hundreds resolutely braved sub zero wind chill to pay respects, support his family, share memories and express their sadness at the loss. For us who remain in this world and knew him the hole of his absence hurts. It actually feels painful.

 

dorsey

 

If I tried to tell you all the things that I loved about my former Old Testament Professor, or the countless benefits to me, or the simple and genuine ways he loved on me and others, I would be typing for days. Suffice it to say just about everyone on Tuesday was in tears and everyone felt the weight of the loss as we remembered his light in this world.

In the next few weeks I hope to share some of the insights I gleaned from this amazing scholar and human being.

For now, I’ll share with you something Dave taught us about faith. Granted, I won’t do it justice; and if you read this and heard differently from him, please add your own amend in the comments section.

So, here goes…
He said the faith of the patriarchs of Israel might not be the kind of faith we suppose it is. Hebrews 11 gives us a “Hall of Fame” of the faithful. We may think that these people trusted and relied on God. They did. But we get the pedigree of it all wrong. The practice of faith is much richer than we might suppose, especially at first glance reading the list of the faithful.

Instead, it’s something like this:

Faith is not about being hopeful about what lies beyond the bend in the future. It not really about a “blind” ascension to trust either. Those are good and important in their ways, but when we speak of the life of faith in terms of the Old Testament faithful, like Abraham leaving everything he knew for the wilderness for instance, we are really talking about a concept much like “putting all your eggs in one basket.”

That’s how Dave put it. The word picture stuck and it stuck good.

With the Life of Faith…
You are deeming God good, trustworthy, and loving and then you put it all on the line.

(So, it’s rarer than you think!)

You stop hedging your bets. You stop saving a little security for yourself. You stop holding something back that gives you a sense of control. You bet the whole thing. You leave nothing back. You. go. in. wholly.

Sometimes, I find eggs in my pockets, or around the house, or in places that I didn’t know they were, like a weird easter egg hunt. Not chicken eggs, of course, but the eggs of my worries. I may have thought I handed the basket over, and perhaps I really did, but life can make you lay a few eggs. Sometimes people throw them at you too.

 

 

Faith, Hope, Love. Those are what remain, yes?

Faith = a Basket of Eggs.

It’s a shocking level of vulnerability: the life of faith.

You can tell when you do it too. You get a mixture of feelings. Great relief that your job is over, your poor skills are not needed any longer, and someone more capable is now responsible and in charge. Whew! Then, you may get a twinge of terror at the power you gave up, but probably never really had anyway. You become all at once very hopeful and very dependent. It’s precarious.

There’s a rare beauty to it.

Sometimes we give up our baskets and sometimes they sort of get pried out of our hands.

Dave was gravely ill for over 3 decades. His was a life of faith. It had to be. And he handed over eggs.

It was a wrestle match, he would tell you. He didn’t always feel faithful. He made mistakes. His candor was humbling. But, through his honesty he became faithful all the more.

There’s something about growing to trust God for each breath, and believing that God revealed himself as a thoroughly good and gracious and generous Creator and Sustainer in the passages of the Old Testament that transformed this brilliant man into a true saint. Not sappy, but real. All at once very strong and stable and yet achingly weak.

Dave was not self-righteous but gracious. Not arrogant in any discernible manner, but loving and open to others. Concerned with others and their lives and largely uncomplaining. Free with his humor and goodwill.

Hear this: You don’t get the privilege to meet people like this very often. You don’t get to be a person like this often. It’s takes an amazing about of formation, re-formation, and transformation. It doesn’t happen by accident or by genetics.

A life of faith means that you hold nothing back. See the difference?

It’s not using power to feel better. It’s giving it over to be fully won over.

 

In a life of faith you love whole-heartedly. Not because it’s safe. It never is. But, because it is good. A life of faith means that you have a sharp, ongoing sense of your own weaknesses and dependence, and that goes overflowing into compassion for yourself and others.

A few days after Dave’s death I was praying in the car out loud as I do sometimes. (I take more comfort in doing this now. People talk on the phone hands-free all the time in their cars and look like they are talking to nobody. Now, I just look like I’m having an important conversation. In fact, I am, especially when I shut up.)

So, I was in the car and I was warring as I too often do with things in the distance. Shadows, possibilities, next steps. I was planning, wondering, and worrying–like I was holding a bunch of eggs and walking on a lake of ice.

And then I said, “No, this just won’t work. I see I’m holding too tightly. I think I have to go all in. I have to have faith. I have to put all my eggs in one basket. Your basket.”

And a song sung by Ella Fitzgerald came to mind. I’ve embedded the audio so you can hear it after you finish.

Then I simply burst into tears, because that’s what a godly and good legacy looks like. Literally, one leaves words to live by. Dave’s words of life and hope and faith were ringing true in my mind in everyday life, even after he’s gone. And I thought, “That’s an amazing man and I was given an amazing gift to know him.” I kept having to wipe away tears for awhile.

 

 

Spirit, you know, is “breath of life”. (The Hebrew and Greek words for breath carry this meaning.) God is Spirit. When you see goodness, when you see sacrificial love, when you see wrongs being made right, you see God. You see the Spirit of the unseen God. Those describers are just part of what and who is impossible to confine or describe fully.

God isn’t just Life Force, but God is that too. And I don’t think Dave lost his own spirit or the Spirit. I think God became greater. The Spirit got so great that it filled him, and his body of water and carbon gave out, finally. It birthed something new and better and unseen and lasting.

And this Spirit and the part of Dave that is Dave (his truest self–his soul) joined up in union with the Great Spirit, somewhere and everywhere, the One, True, Living God who defies reason, explanation, and the limits of us, and even of the universe.

But, Dave didn’t completely leave us. But, my does the sting smart, right now! From my experience I know it dulls in time; but the pain is, at first, ultimate.

Yet, the fragrance of his spirit remains. And it is sweet.

It’s around us when we remember him. The Spirit remains, and Dave’s flavor fused with that true Spirit carries on with us. We miss the more familiar everyday interaction with him so dearly, and always will, until the same happens to us and we are joined somehow together again.

To those who grieve him: his family and friends, I join you in your deep and powerful sorrow. I join you in your joy–that is bitter and sweet–that realizes the gift he was–having known him, been enriched by him, and been intimately connected to him. Your loss is not small.

May you feel the comfort, presence, shalom, and holy goodness of the Spirit of God.

Amen.

 

-Lisa

P.S.
Here is a brief local obituary posting of David A. Dorsey.

 

With these links you can enjoy two of his most well-known books:

 



(egg photo is a Creative Commons image.)

Something about a Labyrinth and Surprises

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This time the weather was the coldest I’ve ever experienced in Wernersville. Until now, my times of retreat at the Spiritual Retreat Center were during Spring or Summer.

Stripped of leaves, color, and warm weather, the place seems monochromatic outdoors, but is still restful and precious to me. There are many prayer room options, a beautiful chapel, plus rooms for things like creating art, music, reading, or for meeting with others. Each place seems to wait for your arrival. Anyone can go there for the day without notice. I love that about it. That’s true hospitality. You are always received and welcome. You don’t need to be Catholic either. God is there in a special way and it’s a sacred place created solely for the purpose of divine communion and renewal. To me, that sounds just like Heaven.

Unless you get run over by a jet-powered lawn mower, but I’ll get to that in a minute.

The Center has recently added a prayer labyrinth (shown above). Many people aren’t familiar with labyrinths–their purpose or their gifts. They create the opportunity for reflection and spiritual awareness. Some (Evangelical) Christians bristle at the copious statues, candles, prayer mazes, and other unfamiliarities about a Catholic environment. I suppose I’m post-Evangelical: the richness of the Christian history and the solidifying sense of the sacred draws me toward the transcendent in a place like this. Every time in an unexpected way.

That’s what happens when you go there. You find God. You find God at the center. The center of you…in your core where he’s always been, because he’s everywhere-present and boundless in love. He’s been whispering things of love to you and smiling but you thought it was just bad pizza leftovers or something you made up to make yourself feel better.

Life is like a puzzle. A labyrinth is a puzzle. It’s a tool too. You can study a labyrinth before you walk the path through it, but while you are walking through studying it can make it far more confusing. Usually, you stop being stupid and cease trying to decipher the pattern precisely and just follow it like a child might do. This way, a labyrinth can be a lovely stilling and spiritual experience, not because of its own woo woo mystical powers (it doesn’t have that), but because it invites a traveller to concentrate and focus–to place her steps carefully. Most importantly, it forces one to slow down.

We don’t realize how fast our thoughts buzz until we get these sorts of opportunities to be careful. If you walk a labyrinth things mentally wind down and simplify to, “Stay on the path. Follow this narrow way. Pay attention.” Some enjoy walking very slowly and praying as their heart grows hushed.

Searching for the puzzle
I saw a photo of this newly constructed prayer walk inside the Center and I started to search for it outside. It was actually in plain sight but I hadn’t been looking for it, so I didn’t see it. (In case you haven’t figured it out by now, this true story doubles as an allegory.)

When I spotted it, a man driving a zero turn radius lawn mower was zipping and roaring around it, back and forth; expertly, but fast enough for me to wonder about his judgement. Crisp leaves shot into the air and the wind whipped them into little showers of bullets.

“That won’t work,” I said. “What am I suppose do? Have a peaceful prayer time as Zippy here shoots me with leaves and the mower engine drives me to distraction?” I crossed past the paved puzzle a small stretch to a gazebo with park benches set in a circle.

It was still noisy there, but the mower sounded duller. I would wait him out. I tried to settle my mind. Maybe I could do some warm-up praying. No. My thoughts swam. “Who’s Zippy now?” I thought.

Instead of waiting, I went on a short walk in the wood nearby over a little ridge. The path looked to have been crudely bulldozed recently and massive tree parts and 4 inch thick vines were crammed in piles. It was other-worldly–so many thickets covering whole sections like umbrellas, even though most of their foliage was missing. Surreal yellow leaves on the ground seemed day-glow bright. I felt like a zombie putting one foot in front of the other as I made my way around the wet earth and wild terrain. The humming mower served as a beacon to orient me. It was comforting and ironic.

Then a church bell snapped me back. It chimed 11, and I recalled how church bells were auditory calls to prayer and attention. It felt like a call to go home…to something. I immediately wanted to get my bag from the gazebo and look at the church more carefully in a peaceful and maybe prayerful environment. I managed a shortcut straight up a bank after a brief bout with prickly plants. I got my things and trekked toward the church. When I got there, guess who was on the grounds too? Zippy, or some other diligent lawn guardian, was tooling around the church grounds. The noise was worse now because it was bouncing off the stone structure and echoing off the parking lot asphalt.

I decided to double back and sit on a bench near a garden path that featured the Stations of the Cross. (If you’re wondering about the Stations of the Cross, visit again soon, because I’ll be detailing that in a future post.) I munched on some snacks, journaled a few things, prayed some (kinda-sorta), and enjoyed a few sunbeams that momentarily bested the clouds. It felt nice to be there, but, then I started to feel really cold. My nose had a ice cube quality and the sun had ditched me.

I headed toward the large main building. An ancient woman was being rolled toward the main entrance in a wheelchair. Rather than getting in their way, I decided to walk through the covered colonnade and flank out to the door on the right. I passed the prayer garden on my left. It was filled with statues, fountains, and newly manicured hedges and remembered how pretty it had been in full bloom that Spring. It was much warmer then too. I was getting colder by the second. But, then I got to the door–relief.

Except that it was locked. The metal handle sent a shiver to my backbone straight through my arm. But, “No matter,” I said to myself. I’ll just continue around the building and try the next door just around the corner. There are probably no fewer than 25 exit doors to the place. I’ve exited a number of them and try to find a new one to some surprise new part of the grounds whenever possible. It’s all part of the fun.

No. Locked too. Things were getting interesting.

It turns out that there’s just one way into the place. There are plenty of ways to exit outdoors, but the main entrance is referenced on each locked door. I came to this realization by the 5th door. I’m not sure if the cold was my dulling my mind or if I was too distracted laughing to myself. I had just realized I was literally following a footpath around the structure. It wasn’t just  a path but a puzzle. I could have turned back and saved myself a lengthy walk, but I thought, “Oh! Okay God, this is the labyrinth you wanted me to take.”

Then out loud I said, “Stop being so funny.” At that exact moment, a black helicopter hummed overhead and I briefly thought the things were going to end in waterboarding or an unpleasant government website experience and arbitrary fees. Maybe, I was on the psycho path. I pushed my icy hands into my coat pockets, stopped trying to open locked doors, and made my way counter-clockwise to the main entrance–the long way around. This was probably the intended journey in the first place so I might learn something. I was starting to pay attention. Finally.

No, it wasn’t the labyrinth I set out to do. It wasn’t the one I picked to walk or the one studied as I walked by with Zippy swinging his mower wildly nearby, but eventually it would get me inside if I kept going around and circled the place.

As I got most of the way around the complex I could smell lunch cooking from the kitchen. “The kitchen help probably don’t have to go through the main entrance,” I thought. (It was my first useful notion all day.)

Sure enough: I spotted an inconspicuous point of entry, sheltered with an overhang and a coffee can full of sand and cigarette butts sitting outside the door. Maybe it would be open. It was. As I pull the door a blast of warmness greeted me and behind it the smell of comfort food. I was back. I had almost gone full circle, but I had an insiders’ access point to put things to rights.

Just before I left the place for home I took my friend–who had carpooled with me there that morning–to see the new prayer puzzle up close. I walked through slowly but it wasn’t prayerfully. The symbolism had already done its job. I was just canvasing the design and saying my goodbyes. I got to the center of the circle and I knew I was ready to leave for home.

I did a little spin with my arms out because I think if it was a movie that’s what would have happened right at the point, and then I stepped straight through the center to get back out.

The surprise is that you don’t get to ever really pick your own labyrinth. It is picked for you. You can decide how to walk it and how meaningful it will be. You can be frustrated by it and worry about the turns or you can slow down, put one foot after the other, and get to the center. Then you’ll be home.

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