Gratitude: Day One

I need to get back into the habit of writing. If I expect my students to write, I should write. Frequently. And I really don’t write much at all, except when I am asked to write letters of recommendation for students and friends.

I have tried to sit down and write so many times in the past few years. You can see the evidence of the fits and starts here in my blog. I’ll write one thing then not come back to write again for weeks, month, and maybe even one time a year.

I decided just now—ten minutes ago—to write my three gratitudes here each night before I go to bed as a sort of meditation and a time to think back through my day.

Today I am grateful for beautiful, sweet tasting, moist heirloom navel oranges I found at Payless and the way their flavor rested heavy on my tongue as I ate my lunch today. They smelled of light fragrant flowers, reminding me of visiting Merideth in Florida and having to drive through the orange grove to get to her house, but their taste was heavy and serious and made me reflect back on a time when I stayed at the Palmer House in Chicago with my family, and we went to Palmer House Steak and Seafood for breakfast or brunch. The place was so fancy, we almost felt uncomfortable, and my mom was so happy her blue eyes sparkled like jewels, and my dad was so excited about the food he kept trying to guess where the chickens were raised (if you know my dad, you know). My brother and I both ordered the fresh squeezed orange juice, which came out in wine glasses, like we had ordered the most expensive mimosas. We were enamored with the waiter and the way he scraped the table with a little plastic object like a credit card to remove our crumbs between courses. To this day, I wonder what we had to give up throughout the rest of the year to afford that hotel, that brunch, and that orange juice.

Today I am grateful for my love dog, Luna the Squish. Last night she killed a baby possum in the yard, and it was horrible and terrible and I cried a lot, not only because an animal died, but because possums are my favorite animal, aside from my Squish. She thought it was a toy and played with it until it took a nap with its guts on the outside, as my sister-in-law says. This dog has seen me through two of the most difficult years of my life, and I know will see me through a couple more. Whenever I am sad, or lonely, or need a laugh her big head with an even bigger smile is here for me. She isn’t exceptionally friendly to other people or other animals, but she doesn’t really need to be.

Today I am grateful for reading out loud and the great joy that it brings to me. My students don’t appreciate the art of a well-read text, but they will before they leave high school. Reading out loud is perhaps one of the greatest joys in this life. Taking words from a page, making meaning, breathing life into them, and sharing them with others. What a beautiful connection between the writer, the message, and the listener!

James 1: Quick to Listen, Slow to Speak, Slow to Wrath

My favorite book of the Bible is James, so it is fitting that when I am trying for the first time in nearly ten years to begin a daily habit of reading Scripture, contemplating it, and spending some time thinking and praying, that I would begin back with James. James, the doer of the word, not just the contemplator. I like doing and being active and employing what I am learning. I certainly wouldn’t classify myself as a navel gazer, only, though I do a fair bit of that as I try to figure out how to act or use what I am learning. From an article by Saint Andrew’s Abbey, about the relationship between practice and contemplation: “Practice and contemplation were understood as the two poles of our underlying, ongoing spiritual rhythm: a gentle oscillation back and forth between spiritual ‘activity’ with regard to God and ‘receptivity.'”

Today I read the first chapter of James in the Lectio Divina style of reading. In short, in Lectio Divina, the reader quiets her mind, then asks God to guide her through her reading, then reads slowly and meditatively in order to parse out what God wants to show her that day. Then the reader has a prayer dialogue with God about that verse, then finally she rests or meditates in the meaning of the Scripture.

The verses that called out to me as I read this first chapter this morning were verses 19 and 20: “So then, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath; for the wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God.” I spend a lot of time listening to other people, particularly my students, so the beginning of verse 19 that says, be swift to hear and slow to speak reminds me how I should receive people, being real and present with the person who is directly across from you at any given moment.

The goal is to be intent about your interaction with the other person, focusing on the moment and hearing what that person is saying. It’s been one of my goals for the past two years to speak less and listen more deeply and intently. Sometimes I do it, sometimes I don’t, and when I don’t, I find that I later regret that I wasn’t more intent on hearing the ideas, dreams, and concerns of the person with whom I was talking.

The second part, really the third point of verse 19 is to be slow to wrath. Generally speaking, for me, I find that I am more able to be slow to wrath if I have listened well and if I converse with a person to understand who they are, why they think like they do, and how I fit into their world if I do. I think being slow to wrath comes from really taking time to interact with people and to have difficult conversation and in depth sharing from ideas and thoughts, no matter diverse or distinct those ideas may be.

Further, I believe the reason that verse 20 says, “for the wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God,” is that when we don’t listen to others and when we don’t engage others in discussion, we tend to act rashly and with an anger that is superficial and dangerous. However, if we do take that time to listen to both our fellow humans and to God, and when we engage in that heavy conversation and that deep interaction, we don’t get angry quickly.

Instead, we save our anger for things that anger God, like systemic problems that result in disenfranchised groups being further pushed aside, or like domestic problems where people are put into dangerous situations simply because our laws are archaic, or monetary difficulties because churches and government programs are overwhelmed with people who need help.

In short, I think verse 20 is telling us not to avoid anger in every situation, like I was taught when I was younger, but it’s telling us to not waste our anger on human concerns that can be resolved by listening and talking through those concerns. The last few words of verse 20 say that our anger “does not produce the righteousness of God.” This end phrase leaves room for Christians to be angry, but not about human trivialities. We are to reserve anger for those things, which God perceives as unrighteous, unholy, then our anger can produce the righteousness of God.

It’s especially important to notice that these verses are sandwiched between a verse about being birthed in the word of truth, and two other verses about getting rid of wickedness and becoming meek in order to be doers of the word and not just hearers. Part of the appeal of the book of James for me, as I said at the beginning, is that James wants us to act. We are to use our quick listening and slow speaking in order to avoid wrath, but not in order to avoid acting; we’re just not supposed to act rashly and in human wrath.

This morning was a beautiful time of considering Scripture, which I haven’t done seriously in quite some time. Now to employ what I’ve learned and to continue this practice each day.

Potawatomi Revelation

Few things clear my mind like living in my van in the woods for a few days with my wife. Two Octobers ago, as I was eating a Belgian sausage and a beautiful deer ran through our campsite, I stopped eating animals products then and there (a decision that was also helped along by snuggling chickens in my backyard). To say it was a spiritual moment in my life is a huge understatement, and I can’t imagine ever going back to using animals for food, clothes, or work again.

This October for Bec’s birthday, we went to Potawatomi State Park in Sturgeon Bay, WI. Before I left Indiana, I got poison ivy on my eye, and by the time I arrived in WI, my eye warranted a trip to the Urgent Care. After we left Urgent Care, I took my pharmaceuticals, which if you know me is a huge deal, because I hate prescription drugs, but I felt so much better that we went for a hike.

I always feel so much better after physical activity and some time meditating in nature and hugging trees. Yes, I quite literally hugged a cedar tree; I am not allergic to those. I decided as we came back to our campsite from the Eastern Terminus of the Ice Age Trail that I want to try to hike the whole Ice Age Trial with Bec when we retire; we should probably practice small bits over time, so we know what to do. She also learned that if we walk to opposite way from our campsite, we can get into town and find a pretty cool hiker bar, so we’re going to do that next time.

In order to move back toward health—don’t get me wrong, I am feeling really good these days, but my friend Sarah just posted about the merits of doing hard things, and I haven’t done any hard things for just myself in a good, long while—I set myself some new goals for 2022. I plan to run four days a week: Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday. On the days I don’t run, I plan to ride my bike to school, starting tomorrow. All of this has the eventual goal of running a 50K, hopefully in October or November of next year. I also plan to be sober from alcohol, which is a depressant anyway, and lots of extra empty calories., which I hope to avoid by eating better food too.

Anyway, I’m getting old, so I should probably take better care of my mental and physical health. Prayer meditation, running, biking, and good wholesome caloric intake will get me far in feeling fine.

Sunrise on Ash Wednesday

Lent is my favorite church season, followed closely by Advent, which is weird because I hate to wait. I am a really bad wait-er. The reason these are my two favorite seasons of the church calendar isn’t that Lent or Advent are particularly happy, because Lent certainly is not happy. I am also not a masochist, so I don’t love these two seasons because of my intense need for self-punishment at waiting. My love for Lent and Advent probably has more to do with the fact that I know how long I will be waiting, and I know the outcome of the wait. I know that at the end of the 40-ish days, there will be a big event that makes the wait worthwhile. At the end there is a birth, there is resurrection. There is hope.

Another of my favorite things is the day when I realize that the sun is rising again on my way to work, when I am not driving the entire hour-ish in the dark. Driving out of the darkness into a sunrise is the best way to start a day of work, or of travel, or even of play. Especially if that sunrise is filled with purple deepness and yellow brightness and red intensity. The sunrise brings with it a sense of a new beginning; there is hope; the beauty of the earth is a forever thing.

The most beautiful day right now in my life is the day when Ash Wednesday and the sunrise morning happen to coincide. In other words, today is my most beautiful day.

On my way to school this morning, I listened to a podcast called “Everything Happens” featuring Kate Bowler and Nadia Bolz-Weber. In the conversation, they talk about how things happen and about how we frame the bad things that happen: “I think that those kinds of ideas, you know, the reason it hurts is because it’s painful, not like, the reason this thing in your life is hard is because hard things in life are hard. It’s not a spiritual failing of yours that this feels bad. Hard things feel hard. Period” (Bolz-Weber). My take away is that we try to make difficult things seem like they are our fault, but we always think the beautiful things are someone else’s fault. Maybe just take away fault. Bad things are bad. Good things are good. Beautiful things are beautiful. Things are.

The sunrise morning, and the beginning of my favorite season of the church calendar, happening on the same day makes me joy filled and helps me to recognize how beautiful God is and how amazing [Their] work in this world is.

Down to the Church and Back to Grace (Street)

I wrote most of this as a caption for a post on my Instagram: fatvegantrailrunner.

One SOUL-filling mile: down to the church and back to Grace (Street). No, seriously, that’s my one-mile route in my neighborhood: down to a church and back to Grace Street, which is a block away from my house, my brother’s house really. 

I’ve been fucking up a lot lately: being angry for no really valid reason, crying over things that are out of my control, feeling displaced when my place is wherever I am, and generally feeling sorry for myself when there’s really nothing to feel sorry for. This is a combination of not living with my wife, being a teacher during COVID-19, and simply reaching middle age.

I’m trying, really trying, to give people the benefit of the doubt, assuming positive intent and believing that people are doing the best they can. I’m trying really hard to extricate myself from family things and friend groups whose “best they can” still feels wrong or bad to me. I want for myself a healthy and fulfilling life, so sometimes someone else’s best and my boundaries don’t work together.

I never wish them ill, but I want the best for myself in this life. And at this point I am not willing to sacrifice my best I can for their best they can. Is this selfish? Maybe.

So, I guess this is to say that I don’t want to hurt people, but I also don’t want to be hurt. 

This is to say that I am trying with each new day to make a new me. To make good choices that don’t hurt people, to say I am sorry when I have hurt people.

Down to the church and back to grace. I have a few I am sorries to say.