Excuse me, could you repeat that please.

One of the challenges of changing job roles is remembering.  Right now, my brain is saturated.  I can’t remember the last time it was this saturated. Memory can be defined as the ability to acquire, process, store, and retrieve information. Memory is indispensable for learning, adaptation, and survival of every living organism. In humans, the remembering process has acquired great flexibility and complexity, reaching close links with other mental functions, such as thinking and emotions.

It is also a tad bit frightening to me that part of my orientation involves a weekly support group for the next 3 months.   I might become even more concerned if a critical incident debriefing team walks through the door.  Often, when one orients to a new job, jokes are made about at least you didn’t run out the door the first day.  To be honest that did happen to me once.  I didn’t run out the door, the person I was orienting did.

 I was a case manager for a local hospice.  My job was to visit my patients in their homes weekly (or daily as sometimes was the case), devise and implement a plan of care.  Sometimes this involved complex dressing changes, treatments or medication administration.  Sometimes I put a load of laundry in.   Sometimes I cooked lunch.  Always I listened.  Many times I was the referee for family disputes.

Once someone asked me to sing hymns over their deceased loved one.  Singing from the Baptist Hymnal is not covered in nursing school.  Fortunately for me, my dad was a worship leader.  So, I was raised singing old hymns.  I know the tunes to most.  Unfortunately for the family and me, I can’t carry a tune.  Not wanting to disappoint and hoping they would join in or suddenly an angel of the Lord would appear singing “Glory to God in the Highest,” I opened the hymnal and the first hymn I saw, “Rescue the Perishing.”  To this day, I cannot believe I started singing that hymn over a dead body.  I am quite sure at every single family get together, that family re-tells the story of that nurse who sang “Rescue the Perishing” when momma died. 

A short time later, a woman asked me to put a thong with Santa on it on her deceased husband before his body left the house.  I learned to rephrase the question, “Is there any I can do?”  I also dropped the question, “What can I do that would help right now?” 

Back to the nurse that ran out on me during her orientation.  It was a normal day a hospice.  Whatever that may look like.  We saw three patients that morning.  At noon, I told her to take a break, get something to eat and meet me back at my car at 1:30.  At 12:30, the director of nursing called and asked, “What did you do to her?  She just left my office and she is not coming back.”  To this day, I have no idea. I didn’t sing or put underwear on anyone.  It just sort of became the office joke, that perhaps one way to help people see if this job was for them, was to see if they could survive a morning with me. 

I am now into my fourth week of orientation and I haven’t thought of running out the door yet and I guess if I do, my support group leader will seek me out and debrief me.  But as far as remembering everything, that only comes with repetition, repetition, repetition.  And while humans are hard wire to remember, we struggle. 

They have been called glimpses, tickles, whispers, bumps or thin places.  That piece of God that sometimes interrupts our lives in a brief instant and we touch the eternal God.  Personally, I can be quite dense and need a shout. 

The reading from the Psalms today is Psalm 78.  If you read the Daily Office daily, you will read this psalm about every month or so.  Let’s just say, I am not a fan of the 78^th.  If I were a monk, I would probably being asking my spiritual director why I don’t like it or the abbot would catch me skimming it at morning prayer and make me pray it 78 times a day for 78 days.  I guess you could say I am glad I am not a monk.  But today, it caught my attention and caused me to remember and to think and to ponder and to wonder and to step into that thin place for a moment. 

Psalm 78 is an instructive psalm as well as a history lesson.  It depicts Israel failed to appreciate the graciousness of God and as a result were punished.  I am not entirely convinced that God did the punishing as much as failure to recognize grace will always lead to a destruction of the gift offered. But it was not so much the theology behind the Psalm that gave me pause. It was the memory it evoked.  And it was odd that last night, I was encountered that same memory and it gave me pause.  And that would be whisper of God.

My Old Testament Professor was quite the gifted teacher and a brilliant scholar. He gave this lecture series called the “Moses and Pharaoh Shuffle” that became infamous.  Most students that ever heard it once, would return semester after semester to re-hear that three part lecture.  I heard it four times.  It was captivating.  Most alumni of that particular college will always use the phrase when connecting with another, “Did you ever hear Dr. Black’s Moses and Pharaoh Shuffle?”  And I thought about Moses and God.  Moses had unique relationship with God.  Tradition says after descending from Mt. Sinai, he had to wear a bag over his head to prevent people from dying when looking upon him.  Tradition says his encounter with God changed his appearance that much.  Tradition tells us he wrote the Pentateuch.  Imagine.  And I think about God and Moses sitting on that bank on the Jordon looking across to the Promise Land.  And I think about how Moses longed to be with God and also wanted to walk into Cana. Moses was bone weary.  Moses was tired.  It had been a long journey.  A long journey in the same shoes.  And the scripture tells us that God buried Moses.  I don’t know if God cried or not at Moses funeral.  The hands that created the world buried Moses.  Moses was buried by God's own hand.

I often forget and often need to be reminded that the same hands that created the oceans, hold the mountains, sustain the world, those same loving hands hold me.  And that is why we need to read the Psalms over and over. That is why people will sit through the same lecture over and over and over again.  We are forgetful.  But imagine this-the hands that buried Moses, carry you.  And try to remember every day those hands.

Eternal God it will take an eterniity to know you-thank God time is of little consequence to you

^{After the storm settled and the wind calmed down and the rain stopped pouring, she remembered to give thanks.  She had used up all of her youth, and she felt wrung out everywhere.  Spent.   It was after that many years of storm, she stood looking at the blue sky that was crisp, perfect. Cool. She watched her dreams float by in the clouds.  She had had dreams.  Dreams as big as clouds.  But she didn’t know that things can come true in the most unlikely ways.}

Sometimes the crashing waves don’t wash you away, but wash you alive.  Ann Voskamp

She still stood.  And she really didn’t know how. 
Half her life was behind her now if she lived to see 90.  Half her summers, half her autumns, half her firsts, half of it all behind.  It made her hurt and smile because it is only in the leaving behind can a woman’s real beauty come to the front.   She had learned that we live in the midst of the dying.  And she learned that God strangely blesses us when we are estranged from him.   And she had learned sometimes you have to rebreak in order to heal. And it is doing the small thing  again and again that becomes the great thing that heals.  It is in giving thanks again and again and again and again.  The small things that remind us that He loves us.   

When you need a different perspective

So, today, of all days, I decided to be healthy, support local farmers, buy organic, lessen my carbon footprint and be green.  Clearly, I should have re-thought that whole decision.  And clearly, being a middle aged, married, mother of a teenage son, who never has her collective crap together and can fall too quickly into the comparison trap; but does have great shoes, more than enough white blouses and perfect little black dresses and thinks it OK to wear pearls with jeans:  I need to get out more. (And I do so love run on sentences and how they annoy grammar snobs).   And given, that in my professional career, I have just about seen it all and seen it more than once, (literally and figuratively), one would think that today's little episode would not have surprised me in least.

I quickly ran into the farmer's market that sets up in the parking deck every Thursday to buy tomatoes. I just wanted some tomatoes.  That's all.  I should mention, that I occasionally get a little grumpy, OK- a lot grumpy because this little farmer's market takes up an entire level of an already overcrowded parking.  And this morning was an exceptional grumpy morning because I had to be in a meeting by 7:55 am and they locked the doors if you were late.  So, I was over anxious to find a parking space.  Circling the parking deck twelve times to locate a parking space normally doesn't bother me at all.  Today, it did. 

That being said, I still decided to support the farmer's market. I walked to the first table that had a tomato on it.  Wishing now I would have been a more particular shopper.  I picked out about 8 lbs of tomatoes.  The very normal looking, middle aged farmer asked me what I planned to do with them.  My answer- BLTs.  The very pleasant middle aged farmer, who in no way resembled anyone you would necessarily warn your children to run away from, suggested I might want to make a salad. I might add that he had dirty fingers, was wearing a straw hat, shorts with white tube socks and work boots.  He proceeded to tell me he had some very fresh romaine, arugula and butternut lettuce. (The key word here is fresh...and not in the spring air sense either).  I, being overcome by guilt because I had not even had one serving of anything this week that resembled a vegetable and the only vegetable my son had been fed in a week was a pea, decided that was a great idea. NOT.  Normal looking farmer proceeds to ask me if I had a herb garden.  (Well, once again, I fell head first into that comparison trap).  I replied, "I sure do."  And I really do.  I just haven't bothered to use them in the kitchen since late June. 

He begins to show me all these little bags of lovely herbs. (I know what you are thinking- the illegal kind).  Thai basil. Lemon basil. Lemon thyme. Purple basil. Italian oregano as opposed to Greek oregano. French lavender. Globular basil. English thyme. Tarragon, french and Mexican.  He lets me sniff each bag.  And then he says,  "Don't you find that basil sexy?" I replied, "Not exactly what I was thinking.  In fact, I could come up with ten adjectives to describe basil and sexy would never make the list." He continues, "But it is so sensual."  And here is when I thought, (and if my friend Freda were with me she would have had a witty come back), "Dude, even if you looked George Clooney or David Beckham, that so would not work for me. And BTW, has that line ever worked for you? Really?"  The only answer I could choke out was, "How much did you say those tomatoes were?"  I am not sure if I should be flattered or not, but my 8lbs of tomatoes only cost $3.50.  I am also fairly confident that it really was basil in those bags and no some illegal medicinal herb.  I gave him $5.00, told him to keep the change and ran.  I thoroughly scrubbed those tomatoes. Apparently, I need a new perspective on the powers of basil. Maybe I don't see basil for what it really is. Maybe I need to experience basil in a new way.

This of course started me thinking and calling girlfriends and then of course and why am I not surprised, I was reminded of this month's readings in the Daily Office.   This month the Old Testament readings have been from Job.  Someone once said to me that they read Job once a year to keep life in perspective.  Sage advice.  The book of Job pulls away our illusions and presents life as it really is. Nothing is more valuable than a valid perspective. One of the most painful - but essential - blessings is the stripping away of our delusions and erroneous presuppositions.  An innocent man suffers?  Impossible says conventional theology.  Job tenaciously holds onto to both sides of the dilemma and wonders..."Is God just? How does a good God allow the innocent to suffer?" Job even has the courage to place God's justice and goodness on trial.  Job was willing to risk everything in order to know God. Job holds onto the unexplainable until he experiences the transcendent truth that reconciles his experience.  His friends knew everything about God but Job engaged the mystery long enough to actually know God.

Job concludes his wrestling with God with these words: "I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you." Knowing God and knowing about God are vastly different things. Knowing about God is the context for vast theological disputes that having been ongoing since time began.   But knowing God -- "now my eye sees you" -- moves us into silence. We have no words to describe knowing God. None.

I confess this story does not bring me comfort. How can restoring a new family make up for the lost family? Does this story really make sense in the end? Is God truly just?  Does the universe make sense?  Can you even trust it? I don't seem to have the same satisfaction at the end of Job's story as Job does. And maybe that is the point.  Maybe the experience of God can not be translated or given to one person from another. It is not enough to just to talk about God.  It is not enough to know hear about other people's encounter with God. I think we must also be able to say..."I have heard about you with my ears...but now my eyes see you..."  And maybe it is that slight change in perspective that brings us closer to God and it can't being given...it has to be experienced.   

The only rock we eat

This is my 99th post. Apparently to be successful at this whole blogging thing, you have to write everyday.  Apparently you have to understand all the statistics, what they mean, how to impact readers, find your own "writer's voice", care about "hits" and loosing "followers".  I guess it is a good thing I don't even know what my "writer's voice", sounds like or how to read my blog's statistics page. I do have a vague idea of which three posts were read the most, but it is only very vague and totally dependent on how I, (and that is a scary thought), interpret the data.  Oh, and you have to be very careful and edit, edit, edit and worry, worry, worry about things like spelling, correct grammar and sentence structure.  Clearly, I fail at that.  I actually laugh when spelling or grammatical errors are pointed out to me.  I have always wanted to respond, "Thanks, I am looking for a full time editor.  Would you like the job?" I also have had to explain more than once that type font changes, size of font changes, fragmented sentences are actually a literary device.  My only unmet expectation of this endeavor was I had hoped and imagined more posted comments.  I had dreamed of stimulating deep conversation.  I know, I know;  very, very unrealistic.  And given that my other writing project at the moment  is consuming a tremendous amount of time (another type of voice),  and learning how to write in yet a completely different voice professionally, I can't commit to my fun "blog" writing daily.  So, how could I expect to build a "following."

And that is the funny thing about Jesus.  I often think his presence was the key to his deep inner sense of peace and why people were attracted to him in the first place.  His grace was so practical, vibrant, deep and sacramental.  Handed over daily without effort,  like passing the salt around the dinner table.  And that is what the gospels suggested on Sunday, that we be salt.  Salt has a very interesting history. 

Salt is the only rock directly consumed by man. It corrodes but preserves, desiccates but is wrested from the water. It has fascinated man for thousands of years not only as a substance he prized and was willing to labour to obtain, but also as a generator of poetic and of mythic meaning. The contradictions it embodies only intensify its power and its links with experience of the sacred. And Jesus told his disciples to be the salt of the world. But the Morton Salt Co. did not exist back in the first century. When they mined salt from the quarry or pit it was never completely pure.
Occasionally the salt they gathered was so impure that it was not very salty at all.
When that happened they would cast it out the door to harden the pathway that led to their home.  What Jesus is saying in these verses is that if we as His followers are going to change the world we have to be pure salt, we have to be the real deal.
Jesus believed that real, authentic presence could change the world. 
Our lives cannot be a mixture of impurities. We have to be un-compromised, pure, and authentic.  “How do you know how to best invest your life? How do you  know what’s wisest and where’s wisest and who’s neediest and who needs salt? And then I read this parable and it made me think. 

There are four Americans digging in the rubble in Hati after the earthquake.  “So in this parable, the Christians start digging. And after several hours, they get out three Haitians: one dies of cholera, one straight up takes off without time for Jesus or thank you ma’am or nothing and only one’s kneeled down to help.” 

“So then the parable has all the American Christians stop digging and have a meeting. Reasses. Are we doing this wrong? Are we being wise stewards here? Maybe we jumped in here too fast and need a better plan?”

“So the Christians have all this talk of stewardship and timing and plans and politics — all amidst the cries of people who are actually dying under the rubble…”

Then one American Christian bends down and begins the work again of freeing those who are trapped. He works frantically with energy, passion and tears.

The others look at him for a moment and then one asks him, “Brother, where have you found this energy for the task? Are you sure you know what you are doing?”

“Don’t you see, loved ones?  My heart is trapped beneath this rubble, too. We are all in danger if we do not respond to this need. We are all in grave danger – those who are below the rubble and those who stand above….

My witness before the throne of Jesus lies beneath this rubble.”

So sometimes it is the waiting to decide what to do that prevents anything from being done.  Saving the world isn't all that hard I think.  Jesus left twelve fishermen who were dysfunctional at best and not exactly loyal to be salt. Just twelve.  So being a little salt is easy.  Just decide who needs your love most right now.  Who needs to lay a burden down.  Who needs a hug?  The world is full of hurting people and we can fix it by passing around a little salt.  Pass the salt please.

Here's mud in your eye

I began a new job this week.  Full disclosure:  Not since my first nursing job have I felt this overwhelmed and I doubt that I have ever had this much of a “deer in the headlights” look.  First, there is the new vocabulary.  Thankfully, I love words.  There are two new software systems I need to master.  Thankfully, all of my new colleagues are learning one of the two at the same time as I.  I need to set up a new office.  Since my last office was my car, I feel a little pressure to get the look right.  I did have my own office about 8 years ago and for some reason “space” just wasn’t that important to me at the time.  I have transitioned back to full time.  Gratefully, I have done this a couple of times before.  I am back again to dressing is street clothes as nurses call them.  That means I have to take a little more time on personal grooming in the mornings. I have done this too. (Taking time to dress before I leave the house).   Scrubs do have an advantage.  But I love change.  Change energizes me.  I love mastering knew information.  Learning energizes me.  I heard someone say today, “If you don’t learn something new every day, you just didn’t try.”  How true.  New medical term for the day, (and actually I learned about 100 today, this is just the only one I can recall), moyamoya disease.  If you are dying to know what that is and how it can possibly kill you, text me.  Yes, it is rare and typically has a chromosomal component.  No, none of my readers known to me are at serious risk.  I am also for the first time in my career actually getting paid to find the deeper story and write about it.  And I love a story, especially a deep, complex layered one.  I have always been the nurse who “knew the rest of the story,” but have never really actually been financially compensated for it.   

Healing people has always fascinated me.  I suppose I am one of those people who believe healing is far more miraculous and far more dependent on God than the Westernized, modern, highly technical world wants to give it.  And though this means people are living longer, although not necessarily healthier lives, healing is still a mystery. 

Today, in the Daily Office, we read about my favorite healing miracle.  It is the craziest thing.   Jesus uses mud and spit to restore blind man’s sight.  I have no idea why the gospel writer chose to tell this particular healing miracle. We are given details of about 35 healing miracles in the canonical gospels, although the gospel writer of  John seems to imply there were countless more. So, I don’t think Jesus was trying to prove the efficacy of mud and spit.  I don’t think Jesus was trying to provoke the religious cultural leaders of the day. Making mud and healing on the Sabbath are forbidden. Although he did. I don’t think Jesus was trying to prove he was sent by God. Who else uses mud and spit to heal? And I don’t think Jesus was trying to model a compassionate response. And certainly we need to remind about compassion again and again and again.

I wonder sometimes if Jesus wasn’t trying to teach us again and again and again how the most disabling force in the entire world is our own limiting beliefs.  The greatest disability in the world isn’t blindness, deafness, cancer or even a terminal illness.  It is not believing that your ordinary life can make a significant difference in the world.

Spit and love have a lot in common.  Everybody can make dirt into mud by spitting and everybody can love.  You don’t need dirt to love.  Everybody can love.  Love is the greatest healing force in the world. The greatest people in the world were all disabled in one way or another.  What they had in common was their ability to love to use that love to change the world.

Love on purpose and it will rock your world.  Love the person you don’t think you can.  Love the person who doesn’t love you back. Love the person who isn’t going to thank you, praise you or even need you. Love the person who doesn’t even know you love them.  Love sacrificially. If mud and spit restores sight, love will heal your world.  The good news, the gospel message is this a a qutie simply this:  We all can love and therefore we can all heal.  That was what Jesus was saying.  Loving is a simple as spitting in the dirt.

All is grace and grateful and joyful and thankful for September blessings…
The space between goodbye
Rooms cool enough for sweaters
Rain upon rain upon rain
New beginnings
Smiles
New books
Watching movies with friends
The mysterious space of intimacy
The space between friends

The real reason we are here

For my girls and one guy on the Catheter Care Team

I have no idea why we are here.  Absolutely none.  Some days I think I know, other days I know I know and still others I haven’t a clue.  I can give you some very deep theological answers as to why if that speaks to you.  I can give you some very humanistic answers as to why if that speaks to you.  I can even make some good answers up and give a very shallow answer. All in the same day.  But the truth is, I just don’t know most of the time. 

But today, today, was one of those days when I thought…this is why we are here. 

So, last night I decide to bake a cake from scratch.  First, you need to know I can bake and actually am pretty good at it. I asked for a Kitchen Aid one year along with a professional grade food processor for Christmas and own about 50 cookbooks.  My knife collection is pretty cool and even Emeril would like my saucepans that come from Germany.  I also own two very, very good sauté pans along with frying pans.  Let’s just say, that Williams and Sonoma is my friend.  I long for a Viking stove.  I read cookbooks for fun.  Second, you need to know I really love the kitchen and cooking can be a spiritual experience for me.  Obviously, eating is. Once a spiritual director suggested that perhaps since I loved to cook so much, I should consider incorporating it into my Rule of Life.  Somehow, I don’t think that is what Benedict meant when he said welcome everyone as Christ.  He wasn’t talking about trying out the newest cake recipe you spent twelve hours looking for on Pinterest.  Pinterest is the devil.  It is like Real Simple, Martha Stewart, Rachel Ray, Southern Living and Southern Lady, Gourmet, Cooking Light, Food all in one.  It is a magazine lover’s virtual dream addiction.  I could surf all night, especially the recipes. 

About a week ago, I found the best Chocolate Cake ever recipe pinned by someone I don’t even know.  I usually am pretty good at reading a recipe and telling whether or not it will be good and exactly how easy it will be to make.  Baking is a science. It is chemistry and you can’t make a mistake.  If you don’t follow the directions exactly in a baking recipe, it will be a disaster.  Unless, of course, you happen to understand the science behind self-rising flour, buttermilk, baking soda, baking powder, cake flour and acid base balance.  Then you can probably rescue a thing or two.  It also helps to have a working knowledge of barometric pressure and the humidity index.  I can promise you that both affect a pound cake. 

Cooking however is more antedotal.  You can make stuff up as you go along and as long as you have a reasonable palate, it will taste good. (OK, except for beef tenderloin.  You really can’t roast that any way you want and hope it will taste ok. In case you are wondering, rub with salt, pepper and garlic; place in a very hot oven (500 degrees)-24 minutes for about 8 lbs. Absolutely no more.  Rest for 20 minutes before slicing. Perfect medium rare every single time).  For instance, tomorrow night, I am making penne pasta with vodka cream sauce, crispy proscuitto and green peas. (And yes, I found the recipe on Pinterest).  I only had to read the recipe to know that not only is that delicious, my family will love it, even though they have never tasted it.  I have already modified the recipe in my head. 

I digress, back to my cake story.  I wanted to make this cake for my work buddies.  Tomorrow will be my last day and I know they like cake (I think they have made me at least four), and I just wanted to surprise them.  Let me go on record as saying, this is one damn good cake.  Just don’t do your own thing with the recipe.  Follow it exactly.  And it probably will be the only chocolate cake I make from now on.   It would be hard to beat this cake.  It is a dense, moist dark chocolate (almost black-because of the 1 ½ cups of coffee in it), two layer cake with a ganache frosting.  It is not too sweet and not too bitter.  Hard to pull off with chocolate.  The perfect balance between sweet and bitter. 

So, one would think we the numerous kitchen disasters I have created, that I would never, ever attempt to alter a cake recipe.  And one would think, that given I am very capable of going from Southern belle to ghetto thug in about 5 seconds, I just wouldn’t tempt myself with the frustration.  And one would think, that given that I love bake and do kind of understand why a certain flour is used in a recipe, why baking soda must be used with buttermilk and why you can’t just add more butter to cookies (they will be flat and spread), I wouldn’t tempt fate.  But I do and did.

I hate to use flour in my cake pans on chocolate layer cakes.  I think cocoa is better.  I love butter and hate Crisco. I didn’t have parchment paper and thought, hell, just skip that step.  (I guess you can tell by all my curse words in one post, this was a disaster of epic proportions).  The answer is no, no, yes and yes.  When I took those two cake pans out of the oven, it was the most beautiful site I have ever seen in a cake pan.  They were perfect; I mean perfectly even, tall layers.  PERFECT.  While my lovely ganache was chilling in the fridge and after my gorgeous layers had cooled, I attempted to release them from the cake pans.  The string of profanity that came out of my mouth scared my cat and my next-door neighbors.  Vance, not so much.  He has lived with me for 17 years and by now is quite used to my cooking induced profanity.   I really should have used flour and Crisco and not skipped the parchment paper step.  (BTW, the substitute for parchment paper is brown paper bag covered in Crisco.  See, I told you I know how to bake). To say that my layers fell apart would be an understatement and I could not put them back together again with toothpicks.  Another baking trick.  I didn’t quite read the whole icing recipe and just skipped the step of whipping the ganache, and it ran.   And I was so mad, I just dumped the whole four cups of ganache frosting on that damn cake and took it to work anyway.  I would like to go on record as saying that the inside of my cake carrier was lovely.  It really was.  Ask Matthew, not the apostle, the guy I work with. 

But it was good and I think this is the real reason we are here and I think besides learning a whole lot of nursing stuff I didn’t know, they really taught me the real reason we are here.        
"There are things you do because they feel right and they may make no sense and they may make no money and it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other and to eat each other's cooking and say it was good."  Brian Andreas

I will miss many, many things about them.  I will miss the oncology patients.  I will miss the challenge.  Putting needles into people’s chest is an art.  I will miss the laughter.  But mostly, I will miss the food and talking and sharing and telling each other our stories.  And that is the real reason we are here.  To love each other and say it was good.

All is grace and thank you and love and blessings and peace to each of you…and I will bring cake again,

Kathleen

When you don't know where to go

That Karma lady is for real.  That’s what she told me.  Her face had swollen up like a cartoon character and her eyes looked like little boxes.  She actually told her doctor that she “quit him” and that “he just better stay on the other side of the bed because she wanted to fight him”.  Personally, I was betting on her.  I think she could take him.  Let’s just say she was prophesizing a bit about what was going to happen in the future to this particular doctor because “some doctor who looked all Harry Potter” decided to go all “cowboy” on her.  And it made me think.  God will send you a soul friend whether you like or not.  It is up to you to take the healing medicine she offers you.  That’s kind of what I think about Karma.  God sending you just what you need and you get to choose what to do with it.  I often wonder how many soul friends I have ignored, “quit”, became indignant and defensive with.  Far too many, I suspect.  I envy that about Oprah.  She seems to have  about  three dozen soul friends and an “ah-ha” moment  twice a day.  Me.  About once every decade.  This is one of my deep reasons for praying the Daily Office.  It is my soul friend and I find I need prayers wiser than mine own.  I am sure this is an enigma to some of my friends not familiar with the Christian calendar.  It is a more “catholic” style of prayer.  I suppose some are probably offended or at least puzzled as to why I don’t say my own prayers.  C.S. Lewis thought it strange that his wife, Joy Davidson prayed prayers written by other people.   

Once, a patient asked me four questions before she agreed to let me in her house.  She had thrown out the first nurse and social worker.  First, she wanted to know if I was born in the South.  “Yes, ma’am.”  Then she wanted to know if I drank bourbon and water.  “No ma’am.”  Then she wanted to know if prayed Compline every night. “Yes ma’am, I try, but sometimes I fall asleep.”  I sure as heck wasn’t  going to lie to her.  Frankly she scared me with that cane and evil eye. And who knows, she could have been the karma lady.  Finally, she asked, “Are you a Democrat?”  “Yes Ma’am.”  She said, “Well three out four ain’t bad, you can come in and at least your mama taught you good manners.”  I failed the bourbon and water test.  

About every other year, during the summer, my most favorite verse  is scripture is read.  John 6:68.  My second favorite is John 12:21.   Unlike the Psalms, which the Church Fathers deemed important enough to cycle through reading every week or month depending on how you use the BCP, the Gospel of John is read every other year.  Some have said those of us who like John, have a high Christology.  I think I developed a love - hate relationship with the gospel during my classes in Greek.  We translated the entire gospel of John.  So, if I tried real hard, and had the Greek text in front of me, I can recite the first chapter in Greek and sort of tell you what it says.  

So, when I read that verse this week, I really wanted to write something profound, deeply spiritual and moving about it.  And I thought about the Karma lady and soul friends.  Annam Cara.  I don’t think I came up with anything deeply moving that begins to do justice to the verse. A true Soul Friend, or an Annam Cara, is one with whom we feel nakedly ourselves, even when we don’t seem to know who that is.  With our Soul Friend, we are seen fully for whom we are, and more importantly, for who and what we might become as we grow more and more deeply aligned with the Spirit of God.

And I don’t know if Peter knew it or not but that was what he was saying about Jesus that day.  Jesus had just fed 5000, walked on water and seemingly endorsed cannibalism.   No one seems to understand he was offering them healing, wholeness and life.  And they left.  The cannibalism thing turned them off.  If only they had stayed to hear what he really meant.  Jesus seems a little hurt and turns to the remaining 12 disciples and asked, “Are you going to leave too?”  Peter answers in verse 68.  “Lord, where would we go?  You have the words of life.”  My favorite verse of scripture.  Where would I go?  I haven’t found a better option. I haven’t always trusted or even understood the plan, much less the path, but better choice of who to turn to? There just is not a better option.  There just weren’t any better options for Peter either, even though Peter didn’t know about the cross yet, didn’t know he would come to eat humble fish sandwiches and deny the person offering him life, hadn’t met Paul yet and didn’t know the ego battle, hadn’t been to prison, hadn’t been beaten and apparently wasn’t clear on the whole cannibalism issue, but he just didn’t see a better plan other than the friend in front of him.  He had even given up fishing to follow the words of the friend in front of him.  Something deep inside told Peter and Peter listened to that still small voice…”this is the way.  Walk in it.” No he didn’t understand the message.  No he didn’t always take the medicine offered to him.  But he did stick it out.

For more on praying the Daily Office.

http://www.richardliantonio.com/blog/2009/08/how-to-pray-the-daily-office-from-the-book-of-common-prayer-part-2-introducing-the-book-of-common-prayer/