I’m not sure there’s any number of Facebook likes that can replace a hug. –Seth Godin
It’s true that as real life plays– out not in the hard scrabble face-to-face ways, but through pixels and clicks– that we grow not just a bit more jaded but also less human.
Typing away about our problems and working on getting noticed for what we think can fool us into thinking that this is normal or optimal human behavior. It’s not. It’s distancing behavior. It’s the kind that can’t stand under the weight of true in-flesh reality, and makes us less ready to do the real and messy work of grace and friendship. Or, reap their invaluable rewards. This stuff of the inter webs is not the kind of being that often propagates a compassion that breathes real life into our souls and health into our bones, at least not like the solace that in-person camaraderie can.
If reading your screen is making you often angry or upset it could be making you sick. Maybe physically but surely in your soul. And it should be well with your soul.
Write out some of your frustrations for no one to see.
Distance yourself for a bit from the thing that distances you from other humans or too often makes shallow mockeries of fellowship and communion.
I’ll spare you a corresponding photo, but Luna, our chocolate lab, tried to bring a dead rabbit into the house.
Not long ago, just after Luna began adjusting to us and as her new family, I took her outside for her final bathroom break of the day.
She sniffed around as usual and then slowly blended into the inky night. Chocolate labs are pretty tough to spot at night, unless you catch the light reflected off the backs of their eyes. I waited. Then sensing that she might smell something and head off after it, I called to her. Nothing. Again I called and a few more times.
I heard the jingle of her collar in the weeds and then she pranced back with something furry in her mouth.
Not quite the hunter, Luna found an already killed and gutted rabbit and brought the carcass back. She wanted to bring it inside and share it. I screamed. And she seemed stunned.
“Put it down. Put it down. No, girl. Get inside.” I said.
She dropped it–mortified. Clearly she was a mix of mystified and disappointed you could just tell by her face. She sneaked inside and kept checking back to see what could be the matter. For days after we hosed down the back area where she dropped her present she would sniff and make some attempts to roll in the smell.
Gone were her chances to provide for the pack, at least in that way.
I wonder if we’re like that too sometimes. Trying to provide or contribute, thinking we’re doing a great job, and really God knows that our contributions are more like rotten carrion. It’s incomprehensible sometimes to us why somethings we’re doing won’t work, but for reasons that escape us God wants us to put down our treasured booty and come back inside.
I don’t think God wants us to give up our “doggie-like ways” or our “doggie-ness”, after all God made us people entirely on purpose. He knows we tend to get into trouble sometimes. Nevertheless some habits are important and healthy to break. And just like I started attaching Luna to her chain during outdoor pit stops maybe sometimes we have to get reigned in too.
Before I follow up (click here for part I), I want to say that I’ve learned that talking too much about a splendid spiritual experience is problematic:
1. There’s really no way language can encompass something mystical (an experience with the divine). It just won’t translate.
2. Sometimes the more you sort it out the more the sweet memory lifts in a puff and vaporizes. I just hate doing that to it. It’s like squeezing a kitten until you hear a pop. Bad idea.
(And the details work more like forensics too, like writing a research paper on your first kiss. By paragraph three you just regret starting to tackle the project at all. Not that I tried to do that, because that would be weird.)
I don’t pray the whole time when I go away for a prayer retreat. I have a Brother Lawrence life of faith, mostly. Integrated. That means Life is Prayer. Prayer is lived. Each breath is an exchange of that gift of life up into the atmosphere. That hope and petition… and God is everywhere, receiving it with a smile.
Sometimes when I tell people I go for a whole day to pray, I get weird looks. They think it must be work or simply beyond boring. Or worst of all…that it’s super spiritual and religious. It’s not whatsoever. It’s carnival of inner joy. I wish it for everyone.
A typical day away
So when I’m there, I turn off my phone, I walk the halls or the grounds, enjoy the paintings, sculptures, the plants, gardens, wildlife and scenery. I pray, worship, and intercede for others in the onsite chapel or in the little alcoves, prayer rooms, the library, or benches outdoors. When I get stiff I stretch and walk a bit more. I journal, write prayers, take notes and a few photos, and I read scripture or devotional books… just short bits. They have an art room, so sometimes I draw or paint. I enjoy snacks I brought and a good hearty lunch on the grounds. I make sure that nothing is done out of obligation or becomes drudgery. Sometimes I just sit there and be. Many times. I allow myself to truly relax and be myself. How life-giving it is. My heart fills up. It is truly sacred space. Somehow more fully the permission is given, the place is consecrated for pilgrims to come alive and enjoy it all, and feel loved ever deeply by our good Maker. Do you like picnics? It’s like that.
Sometimes I feel the shine of God and sometimes it seems God is thinking and being quiet next to me. We’re friends and friends can do that.
So, instead of going into everything I enjoyed and relished in the details, I’ll share a few field notes and let the rest be hidden to ponder in my heart.
• The Sacred will hush you and bring you home.
• As jars of clay filled with treasure (God within) we need rest and reconnection to be cleaned out and readied for God’s use in holy work.
• Life is short, bitter-sweet, and suffused with exquisite joy and ravaging sorrow–all that makes us more human but it takes divine healing through it to become whole. We are simply too fragile to do “being human” apart. Beside God, we need people who love God. People have God inside, and that helps.
• The birds aren’t frantic as I assumed for too long; they are alive with work. Excited to be themselves.
• Deep calls to Deep. In God’s whispers the deepest parts of ourselves are stirred yet we often mistake it for other things.
# # #
When was the last time you got away?
If you’d like to go and you live near Reading/Lebanon, Pa, let me know. I’m always happy to go with a companion. I travel there with a friend or two, then we go off, each own our way to enjoy God or pray and then meet back up for lunch and sometimes discuss it a bit.
I also offer a guided experience there, and more info for that is here if you are interested.
I’m been thinking a lot about how we come into knowing we are Beloved of God. When and if we can absorb that simple but huge concept and step into it, we tend to feel excited to share that reality, spread the love and help others get in on such good stuff!
How do we do it?
Here’s what I found….It’s impossible to make someone receive love or to make them know they are loved, just as much as it’s hard to receive love when we don’t feel ready. It can’t feel forced. It’s part mental ascent and part experiential, and our experiential baggage gets in the way! We can’t still be cynical and mistrusting to actually feel loved. It’s a leap. Right off the cliff toward Love.
You think you’ll die a brutal death, until you do it. Then you realize you have been able to fly on the breeze of God’s love the whole time, and just never got there.
So, I don’t have a good answer to how it works have someone receive your love, but I do know that we put ourselves in a place to be transformed and healed by preparing our heart to offer love freely. We decide that the pain won’t outweigh the gift. The reward.
Can we be betrayed? Yes.
Can we get hurt? Yes.
But we can’t offer much if we can’t offer ourselves, wide open. We can’t love others when we are not equipped to receive love. When we are hedging our bets or playing it safe. Or, and this is the surprise…we can’t feel more loved by over-giving.
BUT over-givers try this, anyway. Is this you? You give and give and give. You serve and help and meet needs, but because you are not ready to receive an emptiness starts to seep in. Then, maybe resentment. Then maybe bitterness and cynicism. The spirit closes.
It’s because love and service given isn’t and hasn’t truly been freely given. It’s been given in hopes of something…it’s changed to be some sort of bargain or potential transaction. It’s some sort of agreement known or unknown that wagers “if I give enough I will be given to. I will feel Love. I will receive and be filled.”
No. It can’t happen this sort of way.
The challenge is to do the radical renovation of tearing the walls down. Prepare to receive.
Now, what would this look like for you? Share your ideas.
