Turbulence

This has been a week of turbulent connections, and disturbed emotions, and anxiety and uncertainty.  At work and in my personal life I have had to face consequences and observe people in significant pain, all of it tracked back to me, at least in part.

Not the kind of week you ray for, but probably the kind of week your soul needs now and then. Certainly my soul deserved such a week. You act, however responsibly, however carefully, and sometimes the pieces fall into place, and sometimes they don't. They just fall…

I am finding that afterward, it is important to simply wait, quietly, for the smoke and dust to clear, so that perhaps you can see the situation a bit more clearly than previously. For sure you have more information about the Other feels and responds, and that gives you the grist to ruminate and ponder next steps.

I am part-way through the 'pondering' part, and that has allowed me to see the whole field a bit more in the way that the Other has seen it. I have gained some understanding. That helps to lower my anxiety, and begin to balance out "blame," most of which felt like it had landed on me. (It reminds me of a cartoon by Ashleigh Brilliant. A man stands under a cone or funnel. Large stones are tumbling down the funnel. The caption reads, "Everything is falling into place…on me.") However, I am realizing that responsibility for a situation is often shared. There are always at least two perspectives on a situation, and in the clearing atmosphere, the perceived partial responsibility of the other makes it possible to draw a deep breath and realize that your initial guilt is overmuch, and requires balancing out. As you relax into that awareness, the thought processes slow down and reflection is possible. A basis for future conversation is beginning to be established. And the world hasn't ended after all.

In the meantime, I'm glad of a short time of oasis, of peace and of time to 'replay the tapes' and learn from the past. Thank God there is the possibility of balance in my life…for now.

A Dilemma of Aging

Woke up this morning to the first real snow of the season. Chilly, sloppy, wet stuff that soaked through my shoes as I walked. I was thinking as I trudged along that, although I love winter, this kid of west-coast start to it always depresses me. The sky was dark and angry looking early today. A bit later it cleared and the sun even shone for a short time. But my mood hasn't changed. The internal experience reminds me of many winter days in Ottawa - dark, heavy and wet.

In all likelihood, my mood is also related to he day I will likely have tomorrow. In charge of worship in the morning, Lodge practice at 2:00 PM, then a potluck at the church at 5:30, and a presentation on the Israeli-Palestinian situation and the United Church's resolution on boycotting goods produced by Israelis in the incursion areas of the Occupied territories. That should be informative, but it's a long day, with very little in the way of breaks. A sign of age, I suppose…

I had a productive and interesting day at work yesterday. I did some planning for Sundays coming up in the morning, and then in the afternoon, I visited an elderly lady in The Lodge, and an old couple where the wife is just out of hospital. The difference between these two situations was dramatic. The lady in the Lodge is alone in the world, even tough she has two sons. They visit her, but she is separated from her husband by their different living needs. He is in a Care facility - an Alzheimer's patient- and she, even with the beginnings of Parkinson's disease, can live a bit more independently. The situation means that after 60 years of marriage, they are wrenched apart overnight - a medically forced divorce, if you like. She gets her son to take her to the nearby city where he lives, perhaps every three weeks. She misses him terribly, and told me a couple of times about the sixty year marriage.

It seems so cruel, and yet necessary, given the limits of our system. It's interesting to me that she feels so alone even though her sister takes her out to church in her old home town quite regularly, and her boys call quite often. But, as she said, looking around her quite nice bachelor apartment situation, "It's not home."

Over my decades in ministry, i have reflected on the fact that when people become unable to live independently, they are given access to care, but often feel "put away" in the literal sense. One woman told me, many years ago, that once a person is institutionalized, the church effectively "excommunicates" them, loses track of them, and they disappear. I'm actually pleased that part of my responsibility in this part-time, short-term position, is finding and visiting these people - assuring them that they are not forgotten, at least not by everyone.

The old couple I saw are still able to live in their own small but comfortable home. Each is active in the things they enjoy. The extrovert wife can get out and visit with her friends, while the introvert husband gardens his head off all summer, and creates beautiful wood-worked items all winter. And they are together, and see their kids regularly. Of course, things could change drastically if one of them collapsed, or became demented. They are both sharp and intelligent at the moment. Down the road, who knows?

Of course, inevitably, I wondered about my own situation.The day may come when I am unable to live safely in my own home. With great trepidation I look at the possibility of instant separation from Beatrix, and being cast among strangers with whom I would be expected to interact. Feels like work without end.

Perhaps this fear in the background is one of the factors that keeps pushing me back to work all the time. Even though my energy isn't what it once was, I enjoy being involved and somewhat useful in my professional life. That tells me that I am still alive and active, reinforcing the positives against the negatives I fear. I could learn a lot from the old gentleman I talked with yesterday. He has two hobbies that e loves, and he can immerse himself comfortably in these without anxiety in his own home. He seemed a very healthy man, with a lively and healthy partner, even though she has medical problems. Talking with people like them, I am in a learning situation, where I can watch and evaluate approaches to life that could serve me well. Perhaps I should seek out a Seniors group that would discuss these things together. I need a friend or two. That would help me t live a bit less alone, even though I have a partner who is a huge part of my life. This kind of struggle is mine alone, as I suspect it is with all of us as we age. Enough for today. Back soon, I hope.

The letter and the spirit of the law

The letter of the law and the spirit of the law.......frequently two different things.

Yesterday, walking in the Byward Market, we met a Muslim woman on the street. That she was Muslim was evident from the scarf wrapped firmly around her head, covering her forehead and all of her hair. The letter of the law was kept.

The remainder of her dress was something else. She was a delightfully ample woman, pronounced of bust, for sure. Her top was right orange, ver a yellow turtleneck. Both were more than snug. As she swept by, with a small, self satisfied lok on her face (she had, after all, been noticed), one could not help a backward glance at her. Her slacks were beige, and call them "form-fitting would be an understatement. Each full cheek of her bottom was perfectly outlined and presented to the world. The spikes c ame all the way down to her spike high heels. She minced along at a fast pace, the letter of the law kept, but the spirit of the law?.......That was a whole other story.

It's easy to notice the glaring dichotomy in person from another culture, but much more difficult to be aware of the same tendency in ourselves......in myself. Christians easily mouth phrases about giving to the poor of the world, of sympathy for those who will go hungry today....and tomorrow, in faraway  places. But that won't hinder our thanksgiving feasts, in some cases orgies of overindulgence. We will simply be blind to the contradiction. Perhaps that's the only way to survive. But there are moments when the realization hits, and a small flood so shame advances through the brain. Like today....

Fathers and sons.......

My father was raised in a very strict and oppressive environment. Family values were stern, and different rules applied to boys and to girls. The girls, for example, we're allowed to complete high school. The boys - namely my Dad, the only son, was working in the coal mines by the time he was seven. Relationship with his father was distant and fraught with tension. Much was expected of him, and he was punished if he failed to live up to expectations.

As a result, my father grew up with a very narrow and constricted understanding of  parenting, and of fatherhood. Consequently, he and I had a distant and puzzling relationship - at least puzzling to me. I don't recall any conversations with my father taking place before the age of six. I remember being carried on his shoulders for a long walk, and being punished afterward because I cried along the way, for some reason. At age six, my father went away to war, and I didn't see him again until I was twelve, and just launching into adolescence, with everything that meant for North American boys. Once agai, I recall few, if any, conversations with me, and plenty of tension when my behavior did not match his expectations. (I recall the dictum applied to school matters: if  you get In to trouble at school, you'll be in trouble at home. A far cry from the parents who today are ready to sue the school if little Jimmy isn't treated with kid gloves).
As a result, my father and I were never close.
During my high school years, we had few conversations, and those we had were usually vaguely hostile, with him disagreeing with most opinions I held about most topics. My father died in 1988, and I have found myself reflecting on hi and his importance to me many times in the subsequent 24 years. I have come to realize how important a figure he is for me now, in retrospect, than he ever was during his life!

As you might expect, my son and I are not close. During his early childhood, we had a lovely relationship. Even during his adolescence we were quite compatible. During his earl twenties, decisions that I made had a huge negative impact on him, although he never shared much of that with me. He was hurt, angry and confused, but only rarely did he talk about that with me at the time.

As time passed, it seemed that his feelings around my life changes grew stronger and deeper. We talked far less, and then mosly about non-personal matters, or things technical. Now that he is middle GED, and I am an old man, we ear to have little or no relationship. Although I have made attempts qto open conversation with him, he responds neither to written or spoken messages. I feel like a door has been closed rather firmly in my face, and that I will not speak to him again for a long time, if at all.

As I reflect on this possibility, I am profoundly saddened. It  as though my sone might have to go through a repetition of my own experience, reflecting on the importance of his father after my demise.

Edwin Friedman, in Generation To Generation, writes about the repetitive patterns in families and other institutions. It seems clear that such a pattern is at work in my paternal family.

Hubris unmasked

Over the last ten days, I have worked hard learning PowerPoint, which I had never opened before. All this effort was in aid of preparing a slide presentation to be used in worship on "Sky Sunday," the third Sunday in the season of Creation. I had about 50 slides lined up to show the many moods and "voices" of the sky.

Gave the flash drive to the sound and light man at church, only to find that their ancient PC system would not accept a Mac formatted drive. No slides. I was totally deflated. In the scramble to be ready for worship starting, I began reflecting on how such an occurrence helps one to keep one's grandiosity in check.My hubris showed, at least to me, and it was instructive to see technology bring me down.

The upside to all this is that Dean (the soon man) figured that if I emailed a slide file to him or to the system, it would convert and be usable. So there is hope for the future.

This morning, autumn landed with a vengeance. Plus 4 outside, with occasional driving rain. Killing frost promised for tonight. We got the yard cleared and the garage cleaned last weekend, so we are more or less "ready" for the winter onslaught. I actually look forward to it. As a born-again Winnipeger, I relish the challenge of defeating the weather and doing my walking, no matter what it's like outside. When I was running, in days of yore, the same held true. It's this crappy, rainy, damp and chilly autumn that I don't like. Ah well, off to Ottawa in a day or two, to experience autumn where at least the trees will be colourful. National Art Gallery, dinner out, and visits with grandchildren and daughter will make it a memorable 25th wedding anniversary. It's hard for me to believe that it has been that long. The time has been smooth and deeply joy-filled, so it races by swiftly.

 Chores to do, so…as Grandma Black used to say, "More anon…"