wonder ten

janet's hands fluttered, danced, and beat the air as her recorded voice recited. she forced the simple words of her poem into the world of three dimensions. "i am a sister; i am a dancer; i am an office worker; i am a wonderful person."

that evening, after dinner, sharon took a photo of me blowing kisses at my own reflection. janet's words were ringing in my ears: i am a wonderful person.

---

i reach out, offering a kindness, then instantly pull my hand back. something within has sprung up to identify my motive: atoning for sin, winning favour, attaining status or glory, hearing praise, inspiring guilt, or some other manipulation... rather than love for the sake of loving, i am doing good for my own sake.

restlessness takes over and i search my surroundings for a distraction. i don't want to think about how very selfish i am. the stench of hypocrisy nauseates me, and my eyes fill with hot tears. how can i be so full of crap?

---

gazing in mirrors leaves me in awe. my own reflection takes my breath away... not because vanity is my vice of choice, but because what i see is astounding. truly, i am the most beautiful of all God's creatures. and also the ugliest.

my thought life, my prayer, my work ethic, my patience, my compassion, my words, my fear, my touch, my openness, my courage, my purity, my thoughtfulness, my gentleness, my capacity to hope... as they are daily tested, they testify for and against me. and there is nothing like consensus.

---

n.t. wright says the world is awesomely ugly and achingly beautiful, and that we need imagination in order to cope with what feels like a false dichotomy.

i say my head and heart hurt from the effort of trying to sort myself out.

but this i know: within myself i find great cause for hope, great need for confession, and great grounds for forgiving those who fail me. and without? a God who is only beautiful and who wants to come inside.

---

beautiful, you're beautiful
beautiful as the sun
wonderful, you're wonderful
as wonderful as they come
~smashing pumpkins, "beautiful"

wonder nine

michelle reminded me of last reading break when we went to starbucks and knitted (knot?)... finally, when hunger got the best of us, we headed out. there was snow on her car and we cleaned it off together. at chianti's, we kept knitting. i think we spent eight hours together that day. she asked me if i reflected on days like that with sadness, given the surrounding circumstances.

remember when everything was hard and you were there? the context doesn't taint the memories, it makes them more precious. when i think about all the craziness, all the hurt, all the struggle... and i remember that you were there, it makes everything go hazy and beautiful.

kristin, amanda, michelle... showing integrity and clinging to one another when giving up might have been easier.

ross and kevin... struggling to hope together, learning to be honest with each other.

jen and biscuit... coming home to something safe and nurturing, knowing i have an advocate and a cuddlebuddy (respectively).

i'm struck by the goodness in my life. the strength and compassion you showed. you babysat me, you trusted me, you shared your life with me. i value that so very much.

wendy's, blizzards, and hot beverages make me miss you in a way i can best describe in romanian: ustura. or, to put it the way lars did, "like a burn. like when you go outside and your feet freeze and you come back in and then they thaw out? it's like that. it's almost exactly like that."

it's the kind of pain i embrace, though, because it reminds me how very, very rich i was last year. it's not even bittersweet anymore... just sweet.

thank you.

wonder eight

me: did ya miss me?
mike: well, i have some good news: i did. you're the best friend i ever had.

mike can't remember my name. he likes action movies and comedies (especially slapstick) more than watching "house" or anything else with a lot of dialogue. he pretends he doesn't like having his cheeks pinched. he's so very territorial about his (hundreds of) movies. i owe him and kevin dinner because of an unbelievable basket he made when we tore up the court on monday night. and sometimes he says amazingly wise things.

me: you gotta be sensitive, right?
mike: yeah, you gotta see what's there.

best foundation for true, insightful, committed friendship ever. that's not to say that mike always lives this - he can be quite oblivious to how people feel, though he is always well-intentioned. still, something rang true. somehow he unpacked the connotation sensitivity evokes - being politically correct, walking on eggshells, approaching things gingerly, and so on - and got at the root: sensing, seeing what's there.

during our prayer time, we share a reading and core members offer their thoughts. almost every night, mike says, "i think it's good to help people... and to be happy with Jesus."

how can every devotional reading yield the same response? because it's the right response. maybe mike looks past all the other stuff that fills our so-called spiritual lives, and sees only the heart of what it means to really live well: to help others, and to be happy with Jesus.

maybe wisdom doesn't have to come as a reward for years of solitude and contemplation and soul-searching. maybe it's a lot more simple than that: just love God and love your neighbour as yourself. we could spend the rest of our lives seeking the definitions for all those terms - God, love, neighbour, self. we could pretend that it's possible to objectively analyze this ridiculous, mysterious, beautiful, terrifying thing we call life... or we can begin to live it, even as we squint to see what's there.

wonder seven

[phos kai hudor]
it’s not entirely surprising that i never noticed it before: this is the first time my bathroom has a window at just the right angle, and the first time i’ve consistently taken afternoon showers. the sunshine pours in and i pull the curtain back to give it room. the shower on, beams of water begin to glow gold and silver. I hold my hand under the stream, and it shines, too. my laugh echoes against the tiles as i turn my hand over and wiggle my fingers. so this is what it feels like to be literally bathed in light!

water is the gentlest and most powerful force i know. it cuts and erodes. it caresses and cleanses. drenches, drips, quenches, soaks, dillutes, trickles, floods, destroys, builds, freezes, boils, drizzles, crashes, foams, buoys, pushes and pulls. it brings nourishment, healing, and terror. it’s a home, a highway, a grave.

and light... it’s just as capricious. how can that which brings sight also bring blindness? the eyes are unequipped to take in all that light offers. overwhelmed, even when enlightened. maybe especially then.
and the way the two interplay: the way water bends light and seems to break my straw. crimson sunrises, purple sunsets, clouds lit up with fire, rainbows inspiring adventure, reflections on the sandy floor of a lake. feeding a tree together.

[pater]
he's no longer a meter taller than me, but still a giant. all the rides on his shoulders, the discussions about politics and relativity, the walks, the games of twenty questions while corini and mom were skating, the jokes, the safety that comes when dad is there... they do not fade even now.

[artos]
crackling accompanies the release of steam. the smell of yeast and comfort escapes as the crust crumbles. thick slices fall slowly and heavily as the knife moves back and forth, revealing a core of warmth and wholeness. each crumb satisfies without satisfying. breaking, sharing these slabs of flour, milk, and egg around the table feels like intimacy, and the very word fills my mouth and heart with ache: bread.

[eros]
a simple love scene with no ridiculous dialogue or confused motives. a hand lightly resting on my hip. intertwined fingers. shared breath. attachment that overrides self-interest, filling the heart with a hunger only for presence, belonging, union.

[theos]
oh, God, i have found Your only flaw: You long to speak to us, to make Yourself known... but the metaphors which seek to reveal Your majesty and love and goodness – Your very self – are far too beautiful. they, too, woo us. so smitten with water and light and fathers and bread and lovers, we fail to gaze beyond the shadows and see You.

eleven minutes with antonio

my ipod can usually figure out what i need to hear. i hit shuffle and it takes over. this morning we had to work together... neither of us knew what fit. finally, the second movement of vivaldi's spring (largo) accompanied the lyrics playing out around and inside me as i sat in queen's park. 11:33 of beauty.

the green paint of the picnic table peels away to let me read the carved initials. there's a spray-painted stenciled prayer: "love and wisdom to you." i echo the request and take my seat. joggers and busses and traffic and a man sitting on a bench 50 meters away, rocking. the dark tree trunks speak of a depth and richness i long for. so real, so concrete. their limbs spread overhead, a symphony of green. peaking through, a sky that glows with blue and white. so good. so very, very good.

vivaldi didn't include wind rushing through drying leaves in his orchestration, to say nothing of the rumble of the subway underfoot. i'm not sure he'd object, though. do the vibrations of the subway affect the trees here, i wonder? every three minutes or so, the roots dance, for better or for worse. are they stronger for it? or do they long for stability and stillness?

strange how a piece about spring fits so well with fall... especially on a university campus. fresh starts: new friends, new lessons, potential that just makes you ache. i think about how i love the smell of autumn, but realize it's the smell of decay. "but," i reflect, "it's death that paves the way for new life." maybe Christian spirituality is about choosing that death over the other kind - the kind that sticks.

do i use the word "beauty" too often? should i guard it so it becomes more sacred, more meaningful? thing is, i don't want to fail to recognize that which *is* truly beautiful... what if God is in the ordinary and life is beautiful and i love being soaked by rain and having the wind play with my skirt and imagining that i am not alone, after all? what if "sacred" doesn't mean "rare"?

i think about what i'm thinking about. how i'd write it. are we really who we are when we write? why am i not like this when i order my london fog or shop for shoes or run for the bus?

sigh.

i let my hair fall on my shoulders and watch and listen and rumble with the subway. i wrestle with impatience. i wonder if there will be a time in my life when this is a priority: when sitting and being (except without thinking so much about it) will come naturally and frequently. when i'll have someone to sit beside. but no talking. just being.

i've only ever shared a moment like that with one person. under a full, smokey moon, we stood, humbled and silent. maybe sharing wonder is the height of intimacy. not talking about it later, like i do here, but living it, together.

wonder six

i couldn't figure out what we were reading. the more i tried to grasp at details, the more they slipped away. all i remember clearly is that i raised my hand and reflected: "wisdom seems to be about unity, more than anything else. that's counterintuitive, because my view of a sage isn't that far from my view of a hermit. more than that, i feel like wisdom alienates you from society: you end up weeping in a dark corner by yourself. but this text suggests that wisdom draws us into community and communion with others."

wisdom is an enigma to me. maybe that's why i dream about it. i took a course on psalms & wisdom once, and we talked about hokmah and its definition... but that seems to fall short now. in "blue like jazz" don miller describes a moment when it felt like something true and beautiful had hit the table with a thud. that's what wisdom feels like to me. and, even though i have no clue where this idea came from, i'm beginning to see that my thirst for wisdom should lead me into community, into conversation with the world around me. here's some of what i'm hearing:

i went down to frwy to have a hummus sandwich, drink tea, and work on my senior paper. a few hours later, a vocal coach and four of her students had a concert on the little platform of the coffee house. one of the vocalists was retired; she'd dreamed of being a singer for years and years, and was finally in a position to follow her dream. she was a charming lady - forgetting the lyrics here and there - and she sang a song that has always brought tears to my eyes.

"what good is sitting alone in your room? come hear the music play..."

i watched this woman who had deferred her dream for so long... she was glowing. and it was like one day she had finally found the courage to be who she had always wanted to be.

when brian melo was reflecting on being in the final two in this year's canadian idol competition, he said, "this is something i've been dreaming about since i was a kid. the fact that it's happening makes me think that my heart wasn't lying to me."

my heart wasn't lying to me.

some things just feel right. and it's like your whole self is on board: you aren't constantly plagued by doubts, there are no dead butterflies in your tummy. it's born of a real desire for goodness and beauty and celebration and self-sacrifice. you know your conscience is clear, your motives are pure. it's not about selfish ambition or shallow achievement. the difficulties that come your way are real, and painful, but they pale in comparison with the prize. it feels like if you don't pursue this vocation, this skill, this virtue, this relationship, this work of art, this mountain, this truth, with all you have, you'll just dissolve into nothingness. it feels like this is what you're meant for.

may we all discover that, in those times, our hearts aren't lying to us.

there are endless stories about finding your voice... and with it the courage to let your voice ring out in joy, in mourning, in doubt, in trust, in truth. let's search together.

it's never too late to become what you might have been.
~ tag-line for "away from her"

o me! o life!... of the questions of these recurring;
of the endless trains of the faithless - of cities fill'd with the foolish;
of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than i, and who more faithless?)
of eyes that vainly crave the light - of the objects mean - of the struggle ever renew'd;
of the poor results of all - of the plodding and sordid crowds i see around me;
of the empty and useless years of the rest - with the rest me intertwined;
the question, o me! so sad, recurring - what good amid these, o me, o life?

answer.
that you are here - that life exists, and identity;
that the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.
~ walt whitman

what good is sittin' alone in your room?
oh, come hear the music play,
life is a cabaret, old chum,
come to the cabaret!
put down that knittin',
the book,
and the broom,
it's time for a holiday!
life is a cabaret, old chum,
so come to the cabaret!
~ "cabaret"

wonder four

(as far as i know) no one has seen me naked in the last fifteen years. no lovers, no surgeries, no spicy beaches. still, nakedness has been on my mind in the last while.

i share life with men and women who have developmental disabilities. while some of them are quite independent, others need to be verbally instructed as they bathe or use the bathroom. still others are utterly dependent on the support of their assistants. as i began taking on a few of these routines, i was struck by how uneventful nudity seemed to be. there might be shyness, but there wasn't shame. it was ordinary.

reflecting on these experiences, my mind was flooded with scraps of ideas: kids have to be taught about modesty and privacy. people i care about resent their sexuality. miranda stone pin-points the beginning of social struggles in her life to the advent of puberty ("7 deadly sins"). i hate porn. donald miller dedicated a chapter of "searching for God knows what" to adam and eve ("naked"). some guy confessed to cosmo that leaving the lights on took everything to a deeper level. the Church has historically been dualistic. Christ died naked.

nudity is a very big deal for me. in fact, about six months ago i considered it a major personal break-through when i managed to change in the locker room rather than hiding in a bathroom stall. it's not that i'm a prude, i don't think. it's that i can't divorce nudity from... well, nakedness. i mean, from intimacy.

miller hints that life with God is a return to nakedness, but i doubt he'd support Christian nudist colonies just yet. i think the reason nakedness was the fashion in eden was that adam and eve were first of all innocent, but also intimate - with one another and with God. that's hardly the default anymore.

so, there's an innocence requisite to default nakedness. young children and core members aren't always ignorant of the vulnerability implicit in nakedness, but they are far less likely to associate their bodies with sin. those of us who do make that connection can't return to the philosophical innocence of eden without the moral innocence that accompanied it... and that will only come in its fullness when all is finally and eternally renewed and restored.

but we can have real intimacy. we can choose to believe the best about one another, fully aware of the risks we face. i think that's part of what God offers us in the interim: intimacy with Himself, first of all. and the potential of intimacy with one another.

donald miller makes much of the distinction between truth and meaning, which got me thinking that, absent of context, neither nudity nor figurative nakedness expresses anything. it is truth (when it isn't airbrushed), but it has no meaning. in relationship, though, it is hard to exaggerate its significance.

"in a world where innocence and intimacy are mocked and abused, i invite you to know me, as i really am. i trust that i am safe with you. more than that, i believe that our mutual nakedness is a foundation for fruitfulness and goodness and beauty in this relationship and in our lives."

one of my hopes is that my time at l'arche will help me to narrow in on what it means to be human. away from many of the trappings of "real life," some beautiful - and meaningful! - truths are coming the surface. not least among them is this: to be human is to be naked... in every sense of the word.

she parks her car outside my house and
takes her clothes off
says she's close to understanding Jesus
~ counting crows, "round here"