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an everyday life

an everyday life

Category Archives: Soul Care

Epiphany from a Wise Guy

06 Wednesday Jan 2010

Posted by Janell in Life at Home, Soul Care

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Dentist Visits, Epiphany, Everyday Life, Soul Care

With many others today, I celebrate the Christ child made known to a traveling band of Magi.  It had been a long journey.  They came out of the east guided only by a star, their questions and faith.   The wise men must have felt both joy and relief, for surely they arrived in Bethlehem tired and sore from their travels.

Today I am more tired than sore thanks to the wonders of pain relief medication.  But I too received  gifts from  completing my long-awaited appointment with the dentist’s chair.  No frankincense, myrrh or gold are in hand, but my gifts were precious all the same, since they lightened the heaviness of  a day that I’ve fretted over since this time a year ago.

My dentist would be surprised to find himself the bearer of gifts in my eyes; his quietly spoken quips are just his ordinary dose of levity to keep patient’s distracted from the task at hand.  He may not have thought I’d remember the words to tell the story.  I was, after all, under the effects of nitrous oxide for the better part of an hour.

In my experience, the gas called laughing gas normally tends to make life calm and serene, even when someone is putting all kinds of scary torture devices into my mouth.  But today it actually lived up to its name.  In that happy place, far removed from the fear of leading edge dentistry by one of the city’s best and brightest, I wonder at my daring to call one of my  gifts  epiphany, defined as,

“a sudden, intuitive perception of …or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience.”

In no particular order, I share all my little treasures with you — the  “Quips from my dentist” alongside  (my unspoken thoughts in parenthesis)…

  • “Boy, I’d forgotten how tiny your mouth is.  But I bet YOUR friends don’t find it so small.  (Really, now, how does he expect me to reply to that, especially with a needle in my mouth.)
  • After many, many one-line quips, to which I was in no position to respond with a half-dead tongue, I thought:  (Being a dentist is a great proving ground toward becoming a stand-up comedian)
  • At the critical point where it was  time to install the implant, my dentist thoughtfully said to my tiny mouth, “Now, how am I going to do this?”  (Do I want to hear these words coming out of your mouth right now..?)

Having shared these, I realize none of my gifts may actually be viewed as an epiphany outside that far away land of nitrous oxide.  But today, it’s all I  have — these few moments of levity that brought light into a dark scary place — which made my dentist no ordinary wise guy.

Praying Peace by Piece

04 Monday Jan 2010

Posted by Janell in Life at Home, Prayer, Soul Care

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Tags

e-mail, Everyday Life, Peace, Prayer, Soul Care

I picked up the threads of everyday existence this morning as my husband returned to work after two-weeks off.   My three greatly distressed dogs are off at the groomers, and already, I’ve completed tonight’s reading for class.  There’s no question that the holidays are officially over for every member of our Mesta Park household.

For now, I have this old house all to myself.  No sounds of video games float up the stairs.  No doors are slamming.  No dogs are barking to be let in or out.  All is quiet.  Peaceful.

No so in others parts of the world.  I picked up the morning papers to take in a disturbing piece of news —  a story about two Middle East embassy closings amidst threats of terrorism.  I walked up the stairs to two pieces of  e-mail.  The first was a quickly dashed note from a friend asking for prayer as she keeps a sad vigil by her dying mother’s bedside.

The other came from an e-card vendor, gifting me with  a soothing e-card that played soft music and images of olive tree branches growing and a dove soaring with a piece of olive branch tucked in her beak .  The card read  “Happy New Year.” And in the place reserved for personal greeting, Ann wrote, “Pray for Peace”.

It was the same plea hidden beneath my own Christmas greeting this year, that without fanfare said, “Peace on Earth”; and I believe there were similar pleas buried within the news piece about embassy closings as well as that piece of email from my friend whose mother is dying.  Oh, that we might enjoy peace on earth and goodwill toward all peoples, living and dying.

I do pray.  I pray even when I don’t say I will.  Sometimes it’s better that I pray as I will rather than as I say I will.

There are many situations for which I pray.  I pray not so much because I believe that the people and situations need my prayers as much as to satisfy a mysterious urge within me.  I pray because I must.

I pray with my life mostly.  My prayers take the form of a written note or a new garden or a weeded yard for a neighbor.  Sometimes it’s a home-cooked meal.  Or even a piece posted in this blog.

I hold people and situations close to my heart as I go through the motions of my everyday life.  Sometimes I pray with a few scattered words here and there.  But mostly, I just whisper names.  Or I name the need or the situation.  My prayers are not weighed down with many words.

My piecemeal prayers are a reflection of who I am  —  a person that is not so disciplined, who ponders mostly with her heart instead of her head.  Even my words to my friend Ann this morning were mostly heart pondering, which I call prayer more than correspondence —

“When and how does peace come, I wonder, but through dying.  Not just the death of the grave but the death that comes from dying to the need to control others through power or dying to the need to control riches (like oil)… and all those other human traits that rise up in us that make us so inhumane (to others) that divides the world into pieces.  But pray?  Yes… this I can do… even my piecemeal way of praying can’t hurt.”

With lives tattered and torn, we pray with the thread of imperfect prayers  —  piece by piece.  We ask another to do what we cannot do for ourselves.

Peace.  Sweet Peace.  The weight of this word may bring me to my knees.

Memory Keepers

02 Saturday Jan 2010

Posted by Janell in Life at Home, Soul Care

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Books, Dostoevsky, Everyday Life, Listening, Memory, Spiritual Direction, Writing

Old Friends and New -- People Come to Life

“You must know that there is nothing higher and stronger and more wholesome and good for life in the future than some good memory.” Fyodor Dostoevsky

Today opened up when Jon and I granted ourselves a little breathing room.

Jon needed time to sort through old memories and collect his thoughts; he’s the main speaker for his Alcoholics Anonymous group this evening.  And I wanted time to sort and collect items for a simple birthday party-to-go; we’re making new memories tomorrow, as we gather family at my mother-in-law’s to celebrate her 75th.

Memories are life, are they not?    So I wonder what happens to memories that are lost  — these pieces of life — do they get lost in our minds like a set of lost keys?  Or are memories like keys themselves, in that they unlock truth about our own lives?  And what happens to memories that are never recovered — do we lose important pieces of ourselves?

I lost memories with Mom’s death.  The memories Mom kept of me before I could form my own are dead with Mom.  Gone too are half of the memories we made together.  It is the latter that has proved the more noticeable loss, since I’m now left to carry around half-memories like a sock that’s lost its mate.  Like any lost sock, the half-memory is no longer aired in public.

Personal stories are sacred.  It doesn’t matter whether the story is told in an AA meeting or in a spiritual direction session or in a cozy chat with a friend or in writing memoir — or even a piece of fiction that reads like memoir.  I lose myself in other people’s stories.   And because truth is truth, I also find part of my own story within another’s.

Personal stories need to be told and they need to be heard.  And with a little more breathing room, we could memory keep a whole lot better.

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