Peace in the Absence of Answers

Why ask why?  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yH9KRFlRFI0

Do you remember those silly commercials?  They used to be some of my favorites.  Not because I'm fond of beer ~ I'm not and my virgin lips had never even tasted alcohol at the time those spots first aired ~ but I am a girl who never ceases to ask why.  It's an annoying and exhausting trait; if I'm not asking out of curiosity then I'm asking out of anger. 

Here's a sample of the random, completely unrelated questions that zoom through my mind in any given 10-minute period:  

• Why does Dr. Pepper make me so happy?
• Why does love hurt?
• Why am I so complicated?
• Why do people stop at yield signs but yield at stop signs?
• Why do evil people steal the innocence from children?
• Why, why, why, why, WHY?

Perhaps the endless questions explain why I'm so exhausted all the time!  For some misguided reason part of me has always believed that knowing the answers to all of my questions would bring me peace. I was wrong.  Some answers did bring peace, but many times they brought additional turmoil, heartbreak and even more whys instead. 

Ironically it seems that knowing the answers is sometimes more painful than not knowing them.  Yet, I'm driven to seek them anyway.  However, I've been burned often enough that I've learned to mix the answers with an abundance of grace, peace and wisdom, otherwise the knowledge can overwhelm, confuse and destroy my fragile sense of peace.

If you had a choice between learning why or experiencing peace, which one would you choose?  This is one question that has an easy answer for me.  Instead of torturing myself with the unanswered whys, I'd rather have peace.  That doesn't mean I will ever stop searching for answers, it means I will find a way to live with the difficult ones.  It means I will put my trust in God's wisdom even when the answers don't satisfy my curiosity or sense of justice.  Ultimately that is when I find peace.

Priceless Scars

• Kayak  $800
• Life jacket  $100
• Cooler  $50
• Drowning and miraculously living to tell about it?  Priceless

My cousin Cole could be the new spokesperson for MasterCard. In mid-September he drowned while kayaking.  No one knows how long he was under the water, but it was too long.  One friend ran for help, the other dragged him from the water while performing CPR.  When he arrived at the hospital he was  unconscious and the prognosis was not good.  We all hoped and prayed that he would survive while we prepared ourselves for the worst.    

It was touch and go for awhile.  He was immediately put in a hypothermic state to slow down the damage to his organs.   When he awoke from his drug-induced coma he was miserable, but managed to display his dry sense of humor before intense abdominal pain led to emergency surgery.  Over a  foot of his colon was removed, likely damaged by the kayak or oars while he was under the water.  He was on dialysis for approximately 6 weeks, but a few weeks ago his kidneys finally began functioning on their own.  The good people at RIOSA confirmed that he had no brain damage and little physical damage.  He doesn't remember the accident but he suffers nightmares nonetheless.  He is healing but is too skinny now, his skin stretching uncomfortably over his formerly muscular, 6'11 frame.  Cole is alive, and our family is unbelievably grateful, but he has scars now. 

We all have scars. I don't know about you, but I am always aware of the wounds that caused mine.  Although they are not physically obvious they've left jagged little marks all over my life, and I've resented them for many years.  Only lately have I begun to realize the limitless value of those ugly marks.  Of course I wish that the wounds had never occurred. I wish there was nothing unsightly marring my desired perfect state, no hideous memories to haunt me.  But the scars remain despite my denial.  Now they are priceless because they remind me that I'm a survivor.  They remind me of valuable lessons and confirm that I have a purpose.  They focus my passion for justice and deepen my faith.  They have become priceless because I have chosen to use them to my advantage instead of living in the bitterness of the original wounds.  They have become priceless because they have shown me the way to peace in the absence of answers.

Every time I see or feel my scars I am aware that I survived for a reason and that I have a purpose.  I pray that every time Cole looks at the jagged marks on his own body he remembers that he survived and was spared for a purpose too.  I pray the same for you.

London Calling Part 2

At the end of a long day touring The Tower of London and the rest of the city on a big, red, double-decker bus, I was attempting to make it to the National Museum before closing time.  Luigi was the French/Italian tour guide with a wonderfully dry sense of humor who confirmed that the museum was closed and promptly began flirting with me.  I was the tired American tourist who was more than a little bored with London, but flattered that a handsome European with a fantastic accent was paying attention to me.  And oh yeah, I was also feeling a wee bit lonely after a week spent exploring Slovenia with me, myself and I.  Although the attention was nice it was clearly a recipe for disaster or at least near-disaster!

It started innocently enough.  I asked about the museum, he said he couldn't tell me unless I smiled for him.  So I flashed my pearly whites at which point he told me he would do whatever I wanted if I would just smile at him again.  I rolled my eyes and laughed and started to walk away, he stopped me and offered to walk me back to my hotel, which was convenient since I was a little lost.  Now, as naive as I can be (as you'll soon learn), I am not so stupid as to give a complete stranger the name of my hotel.  Instead I played dumb and pretended that I couldn't remember so he asked me to have a drink with him instead and I spontaneously agreed, oblivious to the fact that I had just been played.  

As we walked toward Hyde Park he grabbed my hand as we crossed the busy street.  Guess he thought I might step in front of one of those big, red buses. ;-)  But I was too busy being flattered to notice his violation of my personal space, something I usually guard rather fiercely.  As we enjoyed the amazing weather, bright blue skies and beautiful flowers we talked about our jobs and families.  He really tried to turn on the charm by exaggerating his accent but I just laughed and asked him he thought that would work.  He winked and said it usually did and then hugged AND kissed me!  Now, perhaps you're thinking that I would finally see the writing on the wall, but you would be wrong. 

You see, after many years I had finally succeeded in becoming an invisible woman in image-conscious America.  I was out of practice; no longer used to the attention of men.  I was so convinced that I was revolting that I honestly thought he was just enjoying a nice walk with a new friend.  I was an easy target, completely blind to his true intentions.  CRINGE. 

By the time we made it out of the park his XOXOs were finally starting to bug me.  I was still willing to meet him for drinks, but then he upped the ante by saying we should both go freshen up at which point he would join me in my hotel room with a bottle of wine.  Saw what?  Did he think I was easy?  WTH?  Finally my eyes were WIDE open and his intentions were crystal clear, but instead of telling him off or at the very least slapping him I was still trying to be nice!  I politely told him that I was not comfortable with that option and he backed off rather quickly, stuttering that it was just a suggestion, blah, blah, blah.  And believe it or not, I felt guilty for leading him on!  American idiot, right here in the flesh (ode to Green Day).   

When we parted at the entrance to the tube I was sufficiently stressed and paranoid.  I very cautiously crept down the street toward my hotel, darting in and out of different stores and crossing the street in a zigzag pattern as I imagined covert CIA operatives did when trying to escape the KGB.  After taking 30 minutes to walk the 2 blocks to my hotel I entered completely befuddled.  Thankfully there were some nice ladies in the common room who talked some sense into me and I decided to stay in for the night.  On a side note it really is a small world.  Even though they were from Oregon we knew people in common and one of them was heading to visit her friends in Kandern, the tiny village where I had left Laurie and her family just a week earlier! 

All in all my encounter with Luigi was not the best way to end my trip.  Although I can laugh about it now, at the time it was really upsetting.  I was angry at my own stupidity and naiveté.  As I settled into my closet  room I cried in frustration as I realized that I had squandered my last opportunity to partake of Indian food in London, one of few things on my must-do list.  If only I had clued in sooner I could have walked away unscathed and filled my grumbling tummy with some yummy Chicken Tika! 

Told you I was naive.  So now you know why I have avoided writing about London for so long.  Aside from my disappointment it's just plain embarrassing to admit how dumb I was!  Here's to hoping I've learned my lesson.  At least I can enjoy good Indian food locally and I'm pretty sure there is no one named Luigi frequenting India Palace!  ;-)

London Calling Part 1

There's a reason it has taken me 16 months to relate my London adventures, you see I really  did not enjoy my stay in the city.  There, I admitted it, although hating London is probably considered a sin by my sister-in-law who has visited on numerous occasions and loves all things British.  She obviously sees something there that I don't.  So I've made a new rule that since we've enjoyed other parts of England together, when or rather IF I return to London, she has to be with me.  :-)

It didn't help that I flew into jolly ole' England after spending a week in the beautiful country of Slovenia.  Ljubljana, the capital city, has an abundance of charm that most cities lack.  Suffice it to say, London was a huge shock after spending 5 days mellowing with the laid back Slovenians.  The flight to England was uneventful, but the bus ride from Stanstead Airport was a full 117 minutes longer than I had anticipated.  That put me into the city well after 8:30 pm, and if you've traveled with me at all you know that I will get lost in an unfamiliar city.  Sigh.

The entire ordeal was made slightly worse by having to haul my luggage around with me as I wandered in and out of tube stops trying to decipher my map.  It must have been written in Greek because I never could figure out how to read it...  I asked for help repeatedly and was pointed in numerous different directions by people who understood Greek.  Finally, after I had wandered around for almost 2 hours and it was dark and cold outside, I plopped myself in front of a subway worker and promptly burst into tears.  He produced a handy yellow highlighter, explained that my stop had the same name as a different stop (why????) and calmed me down, ever so concerned at the scene I was causing.  I gave him a watery smile, squeaked out my gratitude and proceeded to dry my tears, gather my courage and follow the yellow-brick road to my hotel.

My closet room

You would be more impressed if you could have smelled the noxious odor it emitted.  The shared bathroom down the hall was just slightly better than the gas station bathrooms I usually avoid.  The loo did not like to flush and the shower barely put out any water.  But those were typical of Europe and I knew I could live with that for one day.  At least the room was affordable, the staff friendly and the computer free!  (Read: Pessimist trying to pretend that the glass is half full.)

That's not to say that I didn't enjoy aspects of the city,because I did.  I was especially excited to see the Tower of London, even though trying to gaze at the Crown Jewels while standing on an automatic walkway was beyond annoying.  I had to ride that walkway several times to do justice to all of those rather large, glittering jewels!  But outside the sky was an amazing shade of blue, the flowers were in bloom and the weather was nearly perfect, London definitely smiled on me in that respect.

And then there are the loos.  Oh how I wish you could have seen the sour, unamused look on the bathroom attendant's face as I laughingly snapped this photo:  

With the exception of said bathroom attendant, those British folks have a heck of a sense of humor!  Giggle with me as you picture the annual "Loo Awards" ceremony.  Attendees dressed in their best formal attire, glamorous hair, perfect makeup, dazzling jewels, dapper tuxes, smiling and posing for the paparazzi while trailing little pieces of sandpaper toilet paper along the pillowy soft, white carpet.  Instead of makeup and electronics, their goodie bags would contain Charmin and Quilted Northern.  Can't you just hear Sir Ian McKellan making the grand announcement, "And the Loo of the Year for 2009 goes to..........drum roll.......the fine folks at the Tower of London, congratulations!!!!!" as he hands over a beautiful, golden loo?  Imaging that ceremony kept me entertained for the rest of the day. 

Next:  Proof for my family that I actually purchased and attempted to eat fish and chips: 

This from the girl who has yet to live down the fact that she ordered chicken at the world famous Amstruther's Fish & Chips shop during a family trip to Scotland.  I was determined to at least try it this time.  Verdict?  YUCK.  I hated the fish but ate the chips and then bought another Coca-Cola to wash the fish taste from my mouth.  Fish and I don't get along unless they're swimming in a tank, not battered, fried and sitting on my plate.  

The rest of the time I rode around on the top of a big, red, double-decker bus.  Of course, I nearly froze to death as the open top allowed the wind to give me frostbite and whip my hair into a tangled, frizzy mess.  But even though I had forgotten my jacket, I was too stubborn to move because the top offered the best views and it was my only chance to snap ample photographs of Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, various statues, churches and other buildings.   

All of those things were enjoyable or at the very least memorable.  However, they were the typical tourist stops and make for a boring story.  Here's the real reason why the mention of London shoots a shiver up my spine over a year later: his name was LUIGI and he was a tour guide on that big, red, double-decker bus.

Jet Lag

Lately I have been SO tired that all I can manage is sleep and sometimes a little work.  There are only 2 things that make me this tired: Mononucleosis and jet lag.

Of the two I prefer jet lag.

Honestly, if I have to be this tired, it should be for a good reason!It's not that I love jet lag in and of itself. No, I don't like having my internal clock turned topsy-turvy.  It's what jet lag represents to me that I love.  I'm fortunate because when I travel it's for pleasure.  For a few weeks, excitement and adventure replace my mundane, daily life.

• I experience exotic adventures
• Listen to a symphony of foreign languages
• Taste a variety of new foods - some good, some bad but all memorable!
• Eat my weight in pistachio GELATO - if I'm anywhere in the vicinity of Italy that is
• Try to figure out how to flush the toilets, even those award winning loos in England.......
• Suspiciously enter a futuristic, self-cleaning WC in Paris before exiting in awe
• Curse as I attempt to use a squatty potty without needing to take a shower after...ugh
• Ride miles and miles on planes, trains and automobiles (and metros, tubes, subways and boats!) on my way to new destinations
• Walk in the footsteps of HISTORY
• Gaze upon priceless works of art: Mona Lisa, Statue of David, Van Goghs, Monets, Picassos, Whistlers, etc...
• Gape at fascinating architecture - from the ancient Acropolis to the modern Eye of London

Those are just a few of the things afforded to me by jet lag.  At this juncture in my life I'm thrilled that I have indulged my adventurous side and traveled the world, even if I'm often alone, with little money and exhausted from working an extra job to pay for the privilege! I leave with a broader knowledge of other cultures and the history that shaped them, a deeper understanding of the people who live in those cultures and a lifetime of memories that make me smile and sigh contentedly.   Traveling has become a passion for me and every last minute has been worth the adventure.  Here's to hoping for many more adventures in the years to come!

A Season of Silence

Have you ever been in that place where there is so much you want to say, so many thoughts swirling in your head and no matter how hard you try you cannot articulate them?  That's where I am now. 

My voice has entered a season of silence.  No matter how badly I want to speak all I can manage is to listen for that still small voice. 

Maybe soon my messes can be untangled and I can find a way to speak the things that have temporarily silenced me.  Maybe.

I'll close with the lyrics to one of my favorite songs by Andrew Peterson, "The Silence of God":

It's enough to drive a man crazy; it'll break a man's faith

It's enough to make him wonder if he's ever been sane

When he's bleating for comfort from Thy staff and Thy rod

And the heaven's only answer is the silence of God

It'll shake a man's timbers when he loses his heart

When he has to remember what broke him apart

This yoke may be easy, but this burden is not

When the crying fields are frozen by the silence of God

And if a man has got to listen to the voices of the mob

Who are reeling in the throes of all the happiness they've got

When they tell you all their troubles have been nailed up to that cross

Then what about the times when even followers get lost?

'Cause we all get lost sometimes...

There's a statue of Jesus on a monastery knoll

In the hills of Kentucky, all quiet and cold

And He's kneeling in the garden, as silent as a Stone

All His friends are sleeping and He's weeping all alone

And the man of all sorrows, he never forgot

What sorrow is carried by the hearts that he bought

So when the questions dissolve into the silence of God

The aching may remain, but the breaking does not

The aching may remain, but the breaking does not

In the holy, lonesome echo of the silence of God

If You Do This At Home

KEEP THIS

AND LOTS OF THESE

TO CLEAN THIS

Don't worry, no one was murdered in my bathroom.  Just a bottle of mulberry nail polish.  Sigh. 

A Snail's Pace

Usually when I see a snail I  walk the other way, all the while shuddering as I think, "People eat those things?"  Well now that I have a very curious puppy, walking away is out of the question.  Zeus loves all kinds of creatures, but he is especially fascinated with snails.  

Recently we have seen many snails on our morning walks.  Just today we saw a large snail sporting an intricately designed, brown shell.  I was shocked at how beautiful it was; it looked like it had been hand decorated by an exotic henna artist!

For a few moments I stood distracted as I admired its outward beauty and tried to keep Zeus from tormenting it to death.  But it wasn't long before I grew bored because I knew that wasn't the real snail.  What I wanted to see was the slimy, messy, unattractive but infinitely more interesting snail with little antennas and funny eyes.  I wanted to see what was inside that fancy shell.

As we stood quietly our patience was rewarded as he slowly began to emerge.  He looked both ways several times, twitched his antennas and finally exposed his vulnerable body to the elements AND to my dog.  Of course, Zeus was eager to play with his new "friend" and scared him back into his shell almost immediately.

I always thought that everything about snails was slow, but boy howdy when that little fella felt threatened by the giant, eager puppy blocking his path he retreated faster than the speed of sound!  I stood giggling for several more minutes as he repeatedly emerged at a typical snail's pace and retreated like a speeding bullet at the first sign of Zeus.  Each time he was scared back into his shell he became slower to emerge and quicker to retreat.    

Finally I made Zeus wait off to the side so the snail could breathe.  Once he felt safe enough to begin traveling again I watched as he made slow but steady progress toward the giant shrub that he was intent on destroying.  My landlord may have preferred that I let Zeus scare him away but I just couldn't do it, because in observing that snail, I observed myself. 

I am a lot like that snail.  It takes a very long time for me to poke my head out and see if it's safe.  It's an agonizing process and requires much patience from those who are curious about what's on the inside.  If I feel safe once I'm "on the outside" I make slow and steady progress toward my humble goals.  Sadly I often destroy good things in a continued effort to protect myself when I feel vulnerable, but unlike the snail I specialize in self-destruction!  Once someone or something scares me I retreat more quickly than that snail, speeding bullets have nothing on me.  I am quick to protect the vulnerable, slimy, mess hidden inside.  I paint, pad, clothe and generally use my shell to distract people from the real me, and I fall into that pattern over and over again.

To be fair, the shell is necessary at times.  It doesn't do much good for me to always play the martyr or to live as a victim.  Yet exposing the truth of myself is risky because I can easily get hurt, even by people I trust, or especially by people I trust.  But it doesn't change the fact that I want to live without fear when I'm outside of my shell; to do my work, love my friends and reach out to those in need.  I want to expose the real, slimy mess of my life to people who will help protect me from the harsh elements so I don't suffocate or shrivel and die inside of myself.  The only way I find the courage to try again is when I remember that God loves the real me more than the shell.  In exposing myself to others I'm really exploring who I am and letting His love and redemption transform me into the woman He always hoped I would be instead of a shell of her.

So now you know, I'm a slimy mess, slow and awkward.  Maybe by admitting that it will give those around me freedom to expose the truth about themselves, because as I've discovered, living in a shell is kind of like living in my own little prison.  It might be pretty but it's still a gilded cage.

 

Little Blue Demons

True confession ~ there was a time when I believed that The Smurfs were little blue demons. Of course I also believed that Satan was encoding secret messages in "secular" records (I went to the seminar), that Bill Gothard was right (cough, cough), AND that Armageddon was imminent, er, well imminent anytime between 1988-2048, guess the jury is still out on that one!

Sigh. All of that sounds ludicrous to me now. I cringe red-faced when looking back at the misguided zealot I was. How many people were wounded by my unfair criticisms?

Yet I still know many, many people; sincere, kind, warm, compassionate friends and family who believe those same things or at least the 21st century equivalent of them. Still, I refrain from judging them because I've matured enough to know that I'm not right about everything although I often tend to believe I am wiser and more enlightened than my fellow travelers. ☺

It's easy to forget that we are all navigating our way through a confusing landscape of morality. It took many years for me to learn that I don't have to compromise my deep convictions and spiritual beliefs to embrace humility, grace and kindness. Sometimes I forget that or feel insecure and threatened by someone else's differing viewpoint and react by spewing harsh judgments. Perhaps it's easier to focus on the "little blue demons" in others than the ones taking up residence in my own life. 

These days those annoying blue characters are things like pride, selfishness, entitlement, lack of mercy, loving poorly. Basically they are my own negative character traits, I no longer worry about everyone elses because mine take so much time and energy! So even if we passionately disagree about matters big or small, I will try to respond in kindness without compromising what I believe to be true. Now if you'll excuse me I want to watch an episode of The Smurfs before it's too late, what with Armageddon and all.

Bad Romance

Embarrassing as it is to admit I have an affinity for Lady Gaga's music.  Despite the fact that her eccentric and exhibitionist personality is quite distasteful to my more conservative sensibilities.  And as bad as the lyrics are, I mean seriously referring to male anatomy as a "disco stick" is not exactly poetic, I still listen and laugh.  Not to mention her costumes.  Honestly, if you're going to dress like a Muppet and call it art, then we're probably not going to have anything to talk about now are we? 

But her music is so catchy it makes me wanna dance, which rarely happens these days!  I bop along in my car and office completely oblivious to the spectacle I create.  The fact that I'm not embarrassed is actually more embarrassing than my horrendous dancing and singing skills!  

Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah

Roma-Roma-ma

GaGa, ooh-la-la

Want your bad romance

I want your ugly I want your disease

I want your everything as long as it's free

I want your love, love, love, love

I want your love

Hm, I don't know about you, but based on just the first few lyrics of one of my favorites, Bad Romance, I sense that Lady Gaga's idea of love and romance is pretty twisted and FAR different from my own view.  After all, I'm not really interested in getting anyone's disease!  And I'm smart enough and old enough to know that nothing is free, especially love.  It always costs something.  Just ask Jesus.  

Don't worry I'm fresh out of soap boxes so instead I'll just tell you about one of the most beautiful expressions of love I've ever witnessed.  A few years ago I watched as my niece was serenaded by her new husband at their wedding reception. Tears filled the eyes of every wedding guest as we watched him get down on one knee and belt out a song that obviously meant the world to them.  He wasn't a professional used to singing for an audience, he lacked the polish of a trained vocalist and his voice was a little shaky.  Simon Cowell would have butchered him.  But he didn't care, instead he risked humiliation and rejection to sing to the love of his life.  And in that moment he proved that he would love her without fear, and more than his pride.  It was the best performance I've seen in my entire life.  Lady Gaga should take note because that's romance, good romance.

God give me the courage to love so fearlessly, honestly and humbly!