The last couple months have been tough ones; amidst some family issues and the usual distress from various situations global and local, I found myself and some of my family and friends in the middle of a campaign of hatred, prejudice, and vitriol so strong that we actually feared for our safety. Adrenaline kicked in and I watched so many amazing people who pitched in to get things done. My own part in assisting was to help research and interview a firm to provide armed security so that our church community could go back to meeting together in person. Once that happened, and we all could relax just a little bit, we had our first in-person church meeting. When our pastor asked if anyone had questions for God that they wanted to raise up, multiple people asked a variation of, “How do I love someone who threatens my life? How do I keep from hating a person who hates me when they don’t even know me?” That moment broke me a little. Maybe a lot.
I have some really great friends and family - astoundingly
good people. A dear one had agreed, a
few months ago, to rent me her beach house for a month at a price that was
astronomically low. The timing couldn’t
have been better; I decided that it was time for LRM (Life Reset Month). It would include some time with friends staying
here, some time with my family here, and some time alone. My husband supported me wholeheartedly, and
stayed home to work while I drove off to reset.
I would love to write the flowing prose that my sister does,
or put my philosophies into words with little effort, but it’s not so much the
case. However, I am damn good at hearing
or reading snippets that speak to me, and then reusing them (with credit given,
of course). Just before leaving the house
last Monday, I watched the most recent episode of “Call The Midwife,” and the narrator
at the end said, “Sometimes the fates decree we should start our lives
afresh. We must forgive where we
condemned and seek to mend the things we shattered.” It was clearly appropriate.
My copilot for my trip was a Bendy Jesus that I had shamelessly asked for when they were being handed out to the children at church our first week back. Anyone who knows me well may be shocked at my choice of companion; I am not Christian, and haven’t been for decades. But I wanted to learn to not wish ill on anyone, even those who are hateful towards me, and Jesus is kind of a great example of that (incidentally, so are the characters in Winnie the Pooh, or Gandhi). Plus, truth be told, it’s a fidget toy and my ADD loves these kinds of things.
For a week, I took walks on the beach, had long talks with my friend MK (the owner of the beach house, who came to visit for a couple days), and searched for some sort of definition of what my faith really is. I often go back to a year ago, when I had surgery and was extremely fearful of what the outcome would be. There was a hole connecting my bladder and my colon, and it was unknown whether I’d need long-term catheterization, or whether I’d need a colostomy. My friend Kati (who I often refer to as my moral compass) had an actual checklist in a text message to me of the exact things she was praying for. It spoke to me, in part because I love me some checklists! Kati has never, ever criticized my lack of Christianity even though she is the single most devout Christian I know. She is the epitome of a gentle true believer. Fast forward, and I came out of surgery to be told that I did not need a colostomy, and that there was no hole in my bladder. My colon was still taking up a lot of real estate smack dab next to it (like an unwanted duplex wall), but when the two were peeled apart (the surgeon’s words) there was no hole. He shook his head and said he had no explanation for it, but that it had spontaneously healed in the previous week or so. I took this as miraculous, but when I told Kati, her calm, assured reaction was something akin to, “Yep. These things happen.” I hope to hell that, after she was done talking to me, she went and did a Rocky-style victory dance. She certainly should have. I will go to my grave believing that Kati is one of the best coaches on #TeamMiracle. That said, I still have to try not to bristle when the only comment in response to hatred and killing and destruction in this world is, “We send thoughts and prayers.” (I’d rather they send thoughts, prayers, and votes for stricter gun laws).
At the end of my week of musings, I was watching a show
called, “Tiny Beautiful Things.” In an answer to an advice column submission, a
writer says, “So what if we thought about God differently, and realized that
God isn’t just in the answers to our prayers, but in the people praying for us? What
if, together, those people form a raft that will hold your weight and keep you
afloat by the human love given to you when you needed it most? If I believed in
God, I’d see His existence in that. So,
what if you didn’t worry about everyone’s God?
And allowed your God to exist in the simple words of compassion that
others offer you? What if faith is the way it feels to lay your hand on your
child’s sacred body under the same big sky where your mother held you? What if, in your darkest hour, amidst your
greatest fears and your deepest losses, you saw the miracle in that?”
I think that sums up my own version of faith: having faith
in God but also in all of the beings, past and present, who have been part of a
raft with the sole intention of helping another. And now, when I think of the
ones who have caused so much pain with their religious-based hatred, I think
that they, too, have built a strong raft.
In my mind, that raft has a black flag with a skull and crossbones on
it; but maybe, just maybe, they will raise a new flag one day and sail for
good. If that is possible, how can I
want them to drown? (And hopefully, in
the meantime, I will be okay with myself if I simply hope that they have plenty
of water and just get caught up in a good riptide for a few years that keeps
them from the shore).
-- J
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