Breathing Lessons

Breathing is a Lenten discipline. Really. Simple breathing. One could commit to that for 40 days and be a changed person, however if you fail Lent as regularly as I do, you would be restarting this practice about every 15 minutes. 

Honestly, I am a bit of mess but then my friends know that already.  I am a bit of an imperfect perfectionist.  I am a bit of a task oriented, goal oriented, control freak kind of a person.

My house is always a mess, my laundry basket never empty, my to do list never done, I have an unfinished degree in religion, am two classes shy of completing my BSN, (it only took 25 years to complete that!), always losing my car keys, always fifteen minutes behind schedule and quite exhausted at the end of any given day.  But if you are anything like me, it probably describes your life too.  But it is really ok, because in the midst of all this is a one very ordinary, holy life that has been lived well with grace always orchestrating the whole mess.

None of these attributes are necessarily negative and during my work hours come in quite handy. Except for about three weeks ago and then this imperfect, goal oriented, way too much on her plate, exhausted gal fell flat on her face. LITERALLY.  Well actually it was kind of on my back but that is just a tiny detail. And as my one of  my favorite nurse buddy muses..."You just can't make this *&!@ up."
At least, now that my pride has recovered I can laugh about it.


I am in the midst of completing my BSN.  For some insane reason, (and my nurse friends who have gone before me in pursuit of higher education will attest to this), I decided to complete the two year program in 12 months.  Seriously.  I felt as if I was running out of time.  I have never been a very good runner (sweating vey hard just isn't my cup of tea - I gave that up one Lent shortly after I gave birth-sweating not tea). I have never even attempted much less completed a 13.1 or 5K or run anywhere farther than across a parking lot or down the grocery store aisle while chasing my son when he was two.  I let his dad play all the outdoor games.  I focused more on quiet times like naps, more naps and finger painting. I  must digress here a minute.
I just learned what a 13.1 was. I had been seeing these buttons and bumper stickers with that logo all over the place.  I thought is was some secret scripture or a radio station.  For those of you who don't know and probably everyone but me does, a 13.1 is a half marathon.  Who knew?


So since May of last year I have completed 40 semester hours of course work.  Crazy, huh?  I am now 8 hours from completion! Yeah!  I also decided last May to change jobs.  I thought I needed a little less stress in my life. So, I left hospice nursing and joined the Catheter Care Team.  (Clarification-this involves blood not urine).  I never read the fine writing and always assume everything is way easier than it really is, so when I was told I would be taking a Chemotherapy/Biotherapy Course for two weeks this month, I  thought, "game on!" How hard can one class be?  Turns out - pretty, damn hard.  I won't bore you with the cirruculum details here, but suffice it to say it involved cellular biology, pharmacology, cancer biology, the nuts and bolts of bone marrow and stem cell transplant and two textbooks. Two full weeks to absorb a career worth of knowledge.  My brain sponge is saturated.

And I was eating about 6 Subway peanut butter cookies a day.  At one point, a stranger found me outside the Subway, slumped over my steering wheel, sobbing.  He knocked on my car window and asked, "Miss- are you ok?"  Through my sobs I managed to choke out..."Yes,  I am fine, they are just out of cookies."  He looked puzzled for a minute and asked, "Can I do anything to help you?"  I said, "Unless you happen to be an oncologist who has about 40 spare hours to tutor me OR a former Navy Seal who would like to go on a search and destroy mission...probably not."  I was thinking it might be reasonable to destroy my instructor's computer and all materials related to testing.  I think he was glad when I wiped the tears from my mascara stained face and said, "You are so kind, but really I will be ok."


First test was open book and I scored an 89.  An 89 on an open book test!  My friend who loves shoes said, "Are you kidding me?" She wasn't drinking that day.  I was enjoying every drop of that Cosmopolitin and it was only 11 am.  Second test - 76 and it was just mathmatical calculations.  OK it did require that way expensive calculator I bought my son for math and I did fail Algebra II in high school, but really??!!??  I forgot to mention I needed cummulative average of an 80 to pass and one very small important fact - my employer was insistent that I pass.  The third test I scored a 51. Yep. A 51.  I think you can see where this is going,  I would need a 97 on the final to pass the course and clearly that wasn't happening. I would like to say that this is where I forgot to breathe, but looking back I probably haven't been breathing since November. 


Here is where I landed on my back and it probably saved my life again.  I am the kind of character who needs saving about twice a day. 

I have been a nurse about 25 years and have seen, smelled, touched, stepped on, heard about, watched some pretty gross and horrific stuff.  Right now I am remember a particular incident involving maggots.  BUT, I have only passed out once.  I had been scrubbed for two hours, hadn't eaten breakfast, was sweating profusely and wearing about 15 pounds of lead.  I get a pass on that one.

My instructor walks around the corner and says very kindly, "Kathleen, can we talk?"  I thought -"Guessing I didn't make that 97 I was hoping for."  When she handed me the test and to be honest who can read that much red...I think I might have stopped breathing a little bit.  Her version is that I continued to talk and plead my case of just how hard I had studied for about 5 minutes and then I just passed out.  Funny thing is I don't remember anything past "Guess I didn't get that 97."  Not one moment do I remember till I am being loaded on a stretcher headed to the ER. 

As usual, I didn't shave my legs that morning, I mean it wasn't Friday night and I wasn't planning on wearing a bathing suit anytime soon.  I wore socks that had holes in them and yes your mama was right - always wear your best socks and underwear.  The EMT was a friend.  He whispered in my ear, "Honey, could you be pregnant?"  I answered, "If I am pregnant at my age, I have got way more  problems than passing out!"

6  hours and one emergency room visit complete with full neuro, cardiac and septic work up, two bags of IV fluid later, the diagnosis - passing out.  Number one cause for passing out - holding your breath.  Suffice it to say the ER physcian thought it was best I not work for a few days and regroup. Suffice it also to say I am the only person that had passed out due to this class.

Breathing...just breathing...

We sometimes forget the simple act of breathing.  The word breath is derived from the Latin root spiro- which means spirit. To live the spiritual life implies breathing.

God breathed life into man...
Jesus offered his breath to God on the cross...
Jesus breathed on his disciples after the resurrection...
Life comes from breath...

And yet we forget to breathe...We rush...We hurry...We worry...We toss and turn...and the simple act of breathing and returning to that breath reminds us whose we are...where we come from...and who we can be...

It is possible that breathing...really breathing...and focusing on that breath...is the most spiritual act of all...

May you be reminded that the very breath of God is in your soul, your body, your being...and do we really need anymore than that?

Table Talk

Personally, I think about my shoes.  Obviously when asked the question today, "What do you tell your children you think about during communion?" - I didn't blurt out that random thought or even raise my hand to share.  I hate small discussion groups.  Being an introvert by nature, it is a challenge for me to be a group participant to say the least.  I have also noticed that the random thoughts that pop into my head during such endeavors are irreverent and probably do not represent any well thought out theology.  I am not sure why I am attending this Lenten study.  Maybe because I pass no less than three Subways one my way to the church and I like to challenge myself. 

I have a girlfriend who shares my passion for great shoes.  We are both certain that given a great pair of shoes and white blouse we could save the world.  We both share the same opinion that we absolutely must have every great pair of shoes we see and that there is really no limit on how many white blouses or little black dresses hang in our closets.  Clearly, I need to work on the whole spiritual discipline of simplicity.  But I am a character that is always in need of redemption and is surprised everyday with glimpses of grace. 

I envy my girlfriend's shoes and those her daughters wear.  I would look forward every Sunday morning just to see what shoes her children were wearing.  I have a son and the most excited he ever gets about shoes are new cleats.  I do have a very strong opinion that white cleats look ridiculous on baseball players.  Unfortunately his coach does not share my fashion sense.

Back to the question.  "What do I tell my son I think about during communion?"  To be very honest I worry about my shoes.  When my son was about three or four I just worried about wrestling him back into his shoes as we walked down the aisle. 

One Sunday I was wearing a brand new pair of  t-strap pumps.  I loved those shoes.  They were turquoise.  I found them on the sale rack at Marshall's and they were Italian designer shoes.  I knelt at the altar that day and tried desperately to think on Jesus, grace, forgiveness, redemption instead of what I was going to fix for lunch.  Funny, I am sitting at the table, starving, thirsty and desperate and manna is being offered for the taking and I almost walk away hungry, having satisfied my self with a few crumbs. 

As I stood up, the strap broke on my new pumps.  Once again God in his infinite mercy saw fit to grab my attention.  It was as if He whispered in my ear, "Please sit back down, take time to taste your food. Swallow slowly otherwise you might choke and remember this isn't a drive through." Given that I almost completely fell over, I had no choice. As I tried to gracefully kneel back down at the altar and fix my shoe predicament simultaneously , I felt it and heard it.  A hand was on my head as if to hold me in place for just a moment.  The hand had a voice. The hand was real (it was the pastor's), the words they were real but I am not sure who spoke them.  Now, I never can claim to have heard God's voice before, but that day, well I am not sure.  The voice said, "Be still..." 

It kind of hit me in the face then...Bread of life...Water that quenches every thirst...Jesus was barefoot at Passover...He took his time...He was a slow eater...He took time to wash feet...He made sure everyone took their shoes off...It was to be the last time he would be with them...and he had a lot to say...Words that would be food and drink...Words that offered hope...new life...He prayed for them....

I would like to say I am still at every communion and that I always drink the last drop and eat the last crumb, but I don't.  I would like to say I have given up my love of great shoes for some more worthy spiritual practice.  But I haven't.  I am forgetful and need reminding again and again...Today I was reminded about what I think about...shoes...

May you find grace in every moment even the mundane and realize that God can use anything to speak...even Italian leather pumps...

All really is grace my friends.  It really is.

Giving Up

The bottom fell out. The temperature had fallen 15 degrees in 30 minutes.  The weather is not predictable. What began as hopeful, early spring day was ending in a downpour. Clouds rolled in heavy and black.  Rain was falling in sheets. Thunder and lightening.  He came running off the ball field, drenched, splattered in red North Carolina clay.  He threw his bat bag in the trunk.  He jumped in the front seat gulping Gatorade.  And then he paused...By now I should know that a deep thought that only a thirteen year old can have is about to be verbalized...but it still catches me off guard.
  "So, mom what did you give up for Lent?"  To be honest I fail at Lent.  I had considered giving up peanut butter cookies from Subway and yes this would be a sacrifice for me.  I eat about 3 a day at work.  They know me by name at the Subway at the hospital.  They fix my order before I ask.  Peanut butter cookies are my addiction.  If the day is real, real stressful, I have been known to eat 6. 
I guess I should clarify at this point.  I am a nurse on an oncology unit.  I remember when I graduated from nursing school two decades ago, I asked my head nurse, "Can I expect to cry everyday?"  Her reply, "Honey, sometimes twice." Being an ugly crier I had to think of something to blunt the emotional toil nursing takes.  I have changed my emotional food addictions over my career from coffee to Twinkies, coffee again to Payday candy bars, back to coffee again to peanut M&Ms.  I became caffeine free about 7 years ago.  About 6 years ago I found peanut butter cookies from Subway.  You get my point. 
So, when my son asked the question, I immediately responded peanut butter cookies.  It was the fourth day of Lent, I had already eaten 6 peanut butter cookies.  Thus far, I was failing Lent.  Then he asked another question.  "Well mom, what is the point of that?  Does God care if you eat peanut butter cookies?  Wouldn't God rather you do something that means something?"
How do kids do that?  How do they manage in just a few words to cut to the quick, expose you and your need to be saved again and again from ourselves?  I suspect it has something to do with their ability to be blatantly honest.  They haven't learned the fine art of illusion just yet.  They haven't learned how to wear masks just yet or to cover up all their flaws, their messes, their fears, their shortcomings.  I am not sure when one begins to learn the art of illusion but it takes a lifetime to unlearn it.
"Well, son, I suppose you are right. God really doesn't care what I eat.  But, the purpose behind giving up something for Lent is to replace it with a spiritual discipline of some sort.  The purpose really is to take something up that will make you grow and sometimes that is just hard to do."
"Well, that stinks," he said.  "I haven't given anything up yet, but I want to.  I am already four days late. My friend told me today he is giving up Mountain Dew and my other friend said he was giving up Face book.  I am pretty sure God doesn't expect that."
"Oh and by the way Mom, what did Jesus give up for Lent?"
And I always fall into the trap just about here.  I began to give him a lovely explanation of the tradition of Lent going back to the sixth century.  After my 10 minute explanation of ancient Christian practices, he stops me mid sentence.
"So basically what you are saying, Jesus gave up his life so we could make room in our life for more life."
My stomach knotted up.  Tears welled up in my eyes and threatened to fall down.  Where are those cookies when I need them?  How simple that was.  How simple.  Giving up life to have life.  Giving up things to have life and have life abundantly.  And it is so simple a 13 year old understands it. Lent means life.
"You know Mom, I think for Lent I will learn scripture. Wouldn't that work?  I can do that  once a week. Isn't that like giving up?  I mean I would have to give up about 30 minutes to learn it.  But let's start out very short.  Not too hard. And how many weeks are there?"  
I almost began the metaphorical explanation again but I stopped short.  Just 6 weeks.
Redeeming time to have more life.  Learning the word of life to have more life.
We continued our drive home, laughing at the wind and the rain, and the mud.  I can't think of better way to spend Lent.  Giving up life to have more life.  And I still get to keep the peanut butter cookies. 

May you have life and life abundantly kindest friends.