Broken Glass

I broke a glass in my office a couple of months ago. It was part of the random collection of things I love that dots my shelves and catches my eye on those days when I stare, praying for a sermon to hop down and preach itself.
This glass was an old one -- an antique, or at least part of the vintage kitsch that speaks to me. Frosted white glass with green polka dots, Fire King, if that means anything, a tall tumbler. I have one with red dots, too, but that one was treated unmercifully to a dishwasher's abrasion and the dots are more orange than the red they were created to be. That one, however, rests at home, on a top shelf, far away from my bumbling hands and dropsy days.
When the green-dotted glass broke I was reaching for a book to share with someone -- reaching carelessly, really, because I could have easily moved the glass to a different shelf. The glass fell and bounced, shattering upon impact, though retaining much of its shape. I placed the larger pieces of glass into the remaining form and tucked the smaller shards into a paper envelope before discarding them. But I couldn't bring myself to throw the rest away, and so it sits.
These days, when I gaze at my commentaries or my preaching books or poertry or the pictures that are tucked between, hoping for inspiration to float on over to my desk, my vision is caught by the sharp, pointed glass -- a contrast to the smooth edges of the dots and opaque, frosted glass.
I suppose, theologically, there is the reminder of this being a broken world, of God's restoration, of there being beauty in the midst of despair -- most of which are too melodramatic, even for me.
Someday I'll throw it away, I imagine, though I'd rather find a way to dull the edges and craft something pretty if not useful out of it. In the meantime, though, there's broken glass on my shelf -- right there in front of theology and commentary.

I would...

Sometimes I think in terms of the things I would do "if I could..." You know the line of "if-thinking" -- if I could only do what I wanted, I would do these things -- play in the dirt every day, stay up reading until my eyelids fell together or the book was finished, travel around the country and the world, at whim... If I could, I would...

It's that kind of thinking that often spirals me deep into a place of "I can't... do this, or that, or..." and eventually, I can't do anything except sit in one place and breathe. It's a frustrating place to be, and perhaps moreso, a frustrating place to watch myself go as if I can't truly control it or turn myself around.

I have moments and times when I feel especially gifted at asking good questions of other people -- of being able to say quietly, and gently, "What would happen if we looked at this another way?"Of asking, "Does it have to be this way, and if not, how can we change it?" I am rarely that gentle with myself, and therefore am not often able to change my own perspective.

Today I sat down and thought, "If I could, I would play in the dirt every day..." and a little voice said, "Why can't you...?" and the thought continued, dancing through my mind, to say not just "Why not?" but to say, "How could that be possible, and what would it take?"

I suppose that if I could, I would want to have such clarity all the time -- I would want to stop the spiral before it began. For now, though, I'm grateful that I had a moment of thought-shift ... for my dirt-playing, world-traveling, late-night reading indulgences. I'm holding these questions gently so that I can ask them as other dreams float to the surface and instead of saying, "If only..." I can ask, "How..."

Spring

My hands are dirty and my feet are tired.
We're watching baseball and the hockey's still going.
We've celebrated birthdays and taken a little trip.

The walls are still standing and the paycheck's still coming.

Some days that's enough.

Affirmation

I know that I'm tired today. Yesterday was a marathon day of voting and meetings and being "on" and more meetings and counseling and phone calls and more meetings. Oh, and the election, and the returns and the races and the speeches and the tears and the amazement.

But knowing that I'm tired and being rational about it? Two different things.

However, in the midst of the crap I was able to distill a need of mine -- I need to hear that we're doing good ministry here. I know I should be able to see it and sense it on my own, but I'd really love to hear someone else give some indication that we're not messing up entirely.

And really, there are little things -- the thank you card we got from a confirmand, the ability to talk about giving with faith, the encouragement from a curmudgeon to take care of ourselves during this stressful time.

Like I said, knowledge and rationality appear to be on opposite ends of my spectrum. Maybe I need a nap.

Dippity

I've posted about cooking before. The process is usually an adventure as I think to myself, "Self, we need to bring a dish!" or "Self, we need to eat!" and then the rummaging and scrounging begins. I also become convinced during this time that we will make do with what we have on hand and will. not. go. to. the. store. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. 

Yesterday we needed to bring a dish, I wasn't going to the store, and I had it in my mind that we should bring a dip. 

Fortunately we had on hand: 

2 packages (blocks) of cream cheese

1 smallish - mediumish wedge of bleu cheese

1/2 cup or so remnant of plain non-fat yogurt

1 small jar of marinated artichoke hearts

I mixed it together, added some salt and crushed pepper, let it chill and served it with crackers. It was good. However, I would try to heat it next time. I think it would be tasty if baked. 

Other options that I considered and vetoed: 

Decorating the edges with almonds (too putzy for travel)

Mixing in walnuts (no walnuts in the house)

Adding marinated mushrooms (thought they'd compete poorly with the artichokes)

Sprinkling with craisins (might do this next time; it would have been good color)

If you happen to have these ingredients on hand, or aren't opposed to going to the store, enjoy! 

Expenses

Not a day goes by without someone calling, stopping by, to see if they can get some assistance. Word spreads like wildfire that there is assistance here, and that, as one person told me, “You’ve got a kind heart, Pastor; my friend said you’re kind.”

If only they knew, I often think, if only they knew that I sit muttering in my office, trying to gain the strength to face another person in need – another young woman with a baby, another addict trying to stay clean, another man who used to be somebody, another kid who should be in college but instead is trying to find a place to take a shower. “You’ve got a kind heart, Reverend.” Those words nearly haunt me as I go about my day.

I was about to leave the office for a minute this afternoon – grab a cup of overpriced coffee to get me through the day and evening, breathe some fresh air, take a break from my computer and to-do list, when my phone rang. “There’s someone here to see you about getting some assistance,” she said. I responded that I’d be there in a minute, and I heard the man take a seat. I sighed loudly in the privacy of my office, and prayed a not very holy prayer.

When I stepped into the hall he was sitting on the stool with one of the devotionals we have available, papers clutched in his hand. “Good afternoon, what can I do for you?” I asked briskly, my mind on my future latte. I recognized him from a previous visit, though I couldn’t remember what I’d helped him with before.

“We were here a few months ago,” he said. “And you helped us out. Well, my wife, well, she passed, and I have to bury her.” His words poured out and he didn’t cry; he spoke as if all of his tears were gone. He unfolded the paper from the mortuary company and explained that this was the cheapest he could find, that she would be cremated, and he had a portion of what they were asking him to pay.

“When did she pass,” I asked him, using the vernacular that he had used, buying myself time to breathe; this was a new request. “Last Tuesday, ma’am; the funeral is Friday,” he said, pointing to the line on the paper. “I can help,” I said, and turned back to my office to prepare the check.

Burial expenses, I thought, feeding the check through the printer. I shook my head and ran my fingers over the itemized list from the funeral home – Type of container: Cardboard box.

This story isn’t about me and my reticence and frustration. Now in the privacy of my office I cry the tears that he didn’t cry when he asked me for help. Mostly they’re tears of gratitude because I am able to help – that I am able to be the means of God’s grace and the face of generosity of God’s people.

I sent him on his way with a handshake and a check and a blessing of God’s peace to be with him. It didn’t seem like enough when he’s about to bury his wife. It hardly seemed like enough at all.

Some thoughts of randomness

I'm not writing enough to get much traffic anymore. 

I'd like to cook more, and start making bread, in that artisan-five-minutes-a-day way. 

Visiting relatives make me want to clean my house. Both because some are amazingly great home-makers, and also because some, well, aren't. Clutter purge ahead! 

On my list of things to do again, hopefully soon: kayak, run, and race. Ok, some of those are new, but still on the list. 

I know the answer and I get it, but why is it so much harder to create a vision for myself than for others or an organization? I know, I know....