Jesus Dances……..AGAIN!

Lately Jesus and I have not been getting along. Ok, that’s an overstatement. Let me try again. I don’t think Jesus is taking me seriously. I’m not even sure he is really listening. I feel a little like I am talking to a 14-year-old girl who’s rolling her eyes and saying, “Blah, blah, blah…..I’ve heard this all before.” Or maybe like I’m talking to my husband when he’s playing guitar. He nods, but I never know if he’s nodding because he’s listening to what I am saying or if he’s really nodding to some invisible beat in his head.

Yesterday I was attempting to pray. Now the truth is that I have recently had some difficulties in this department. First difficulty is that I haven’t actually been praying.  So one reason Jesus may not be a good listener right now is that I haven’t been saying much of anything.  Now of course he is God and he should know the unspoken prayers in my heart, but I have to face that he may be tired of doing ALL the work in this relationship. (The good news is that I feel 100% confident that Jesus won’t break up with me). My second major difficulty is that when I decide to remedy the situation my mind won’t cooperate. It rambles; it flits; it skips; it gets stuck in the ditch. It’s like hiking with an unruly 2-year-old.

Back to yesterday, I was working hard, keeping my toddler-esque mind on one of those “kid leashes” you see in the airport. (If I could keep my mind on a “kid leash,” it would be a monkey leash!)  Anyway, I was working hard sharing all my concerns with Jesus. Here’s a sampling: I need a job and an income; where am I going with my blogging and my writing; what should I be doing with my life; why can’t I just be a normal person. Now let me back up again and say that when I pray, I imagine my Jesus (“Hippie Jesus”) sitting with me on Folly Beach and listening attentively and lovingly. That’s just the kind of guy he is (in my mind).

So during my prayer yesterday, guess what my Jesus was doing? You would never, ever guess. He was dancing…..again. (Ok, you could have guessed because it’s in the title, and, if you are really paying attention, you might remember this is the second time Jesus has danced in my prayers). But unlike the first time when Jesus danced, trying to engage me and cheer me up, this time his dancing was a little frustrating. He was smiling, but he was also very obviously not listening. “Hey! I’m talking here!” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “Really??!! This is how it’s going to be today. That’s just great. This is important stuff. This is MY life.” He never did stop and listen. Now that I think about it, I guess I could have just given in and started dancing, too. But I was trying to make a point.

I have been mad with Jesus before (when my dog died when my mom was in ICU, I was really, really mad, but that’s another story). But I couldn’t really be mad with him this time because the whole thing sort of cracked me up. And even while I was ranting at him, I knew he was trying to tell me something. Honestly, I just didn’t want to hear it.

So I have been wondering what Jesus may have been trying to share with me. And I have a few ideas. Maybe I worry about the wrong stuff. What’s important to me (money, what other people think, for example) isn’t really important to Jesus. And sometimes what frustrates me the very most is that he simply refuses to give me a roadmap to follow.

Of course, now that I think of it, anyone who knows me well (and that has to include Jesus) would know that if Jesus actually walked into Starbucks right now and handed me my personal roadmap, that I would probably not follow it! I can see me looking at my sparkly life-plan with my name in fancy calligraphy, and I would probably say, “Oh. This isn’t for me. You must mean another Lee Hunter.”

Why in the world would I do that, you might ask? Because I want to do what I want to do, and, knowing Jesus, he would probably want me to do something hard, un-glamourous, and with absolutely no personal glory, and maybe even no income. Uh-oh. Maybe I am the 14-year-old girl who’s not listening. I talk and talk and ask Jesus to help me discern, blah, blah, blah, but then, when he does what I ask, I stand there with my fingers in my ears, humming a tune, saying, “I can’t hear you.”

The long and short of it is that I don’t know where I am going. But I can take deep comfort in what I do know right now. Jesus adores me (even though I don’t know why); Jesus listens to me (even when I make him—and myself—nuts); Jesus is slowly bringing me along my path, no need for a monkey leash. Because I am coming. I do hear him.  I am following him, just with fits, starts, stumbles, bruised knees, and yes, occasionally, falling in the ditch. But he reaches out and helps me up and—always—waits for me. And, oh yeah. Next time……I will dance.

(Warrior Princesses CAN Love With) A Paper Thin Heart

Now what do I do
With the sweet love of mine
Do I give it away and
Hope someday I’ll find
Someone half as awake
As the moon and the stars
Mother, teach me to love
With a paper-thin heart

  (From Sheryl Crow’s song “Detours”)

 One of the gifts I have given myself for 2014 is weekly attendance at a Yin Yoga class. I have been an occasional practitioner of yoga for years, and although I am not particularly good at it, I love yoga. Yin Yoga, however, is a different breed from all my previous yoga classes. It’s a very gentle yoga. We hold the poses longer, we breathe, and we “let go.” Each week our instructor focuses on different areas of our body to “open  up.” What I love most about Yin Yoga is its focus on our body’s energy or qi. Using our breath and our bodies and our minds, we get that qi moving! Half of the time, I don’t even feel like I am doing much of anything physically. But by the time the class is over, I experience the most amazing changes. Often, I feel like I have just had a massage and I walk out of the class, smiling and all “loosy-goosy.”

Last week in my class, to celebrate Valentine’s Day, we focused on opening our heart center. I’m not a yogi master so I won’t waste your time talking about chakras and qi, but here’s what happened to me. During that class, I looked into my heart and I found a corner of it that was dark and boarded up. “Closed For Repairs.”

Bravely, I shined a light in there and pulled off a board or two. What was in there? It was loss and grief. All the people who I have loved and lost over the last 10 years. My mother-in-law; my father-in-law; my best friend from college; my Uncle Barry; my dog; my mama. Right now, my grief boils down to one thing: I just miss them so much. When someone dies, there comes a point (for me at least) when I am forced to confront the most horrible reality ever: I will never again see that person in this life. There’s an emptiness there, a big dark chasm that seems all encompassing. And to put it frankly…..it freaks me out. I would prefer to continue the busy-ness of my day-to-day life and not look into that black hole. Let’s board that sucker up!

Letting a little sunlight into that boarded up area, well, it blows. It’s hard. It’s painful. My instinct is to nail another “two-by-four” over it, maybe by eating peanut M & M’s until I’m nauseous. I want to lay in bed and read Pride and Prejudice for the umpteenth time or snuggle on the sofa and watch a Downton Abbey marathon. I want to cry. I want to cuss. And, yes, during this past week, I have done some of those things! But what I am trying to do is to just continue to let that light shine in and clear out the dust and the cobwebs.

This morning I remembered my friend Judy telling me about a TED Talk by Brene Brown, “The Power of Vulnerability.”  So I finally watched it. (It amazes me that I will watch hours of Project Runway but don’t make time for 20 minutes of something enlightening and stimulating…..but that’s a topic for another blog!) Don’t be like me…..go ahead and watch it! Anyway, Professor Brown tells us that those people who live “whole-heartedly” embrace their vulnerability; she says that what makes us vulnerable also makes us beautiful. Instead of numbing our hard feelings (say by eating a bag of Reese’s miniatures), we can “let ourselves be seen”; “love with our whole hearts”; “practice gratitude”; and know “I am enough.” Easy-peasy, right? Here’s my take-away: living “whole-heartedly” ain’t for sissies, but guess what? I’m no sissy. I’m one brave warrior princess!  And I am committed to living and loving with a “paper thin heart.”

Warrior Princess Lee, armed with sparkly wand and action figure Jesus, in front of window of power

One Final Thought: I know we don’t get grades on sharing our vulnerability, but if we did, I think I would get an A. First of all, I wrote this blog about vulnerability and second, I shared a not-very-flattering selfie.  I am actually much better looking in person :)!

Forget Who’s Your Daddy, Who’s Your Jesus?

If you have a teenage son, you may have seen the Will Ferrell movie Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. If you don’t have a teenage son, you may have missed it, and you may be happy that you missed it. Cinematic genius it’s not. However, this movie contains one of my very favorite scenes of all time. NASCAR driver Ricky Bobby (Will Farrell) and his sidekick Cal (John C. Reilly) are seated at the dinner table with Ricky’s family, and Ricky says “grace” before the meal. If you are not easily offended and can leave your sense of propriety and decorum here, check out this YouTube clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5A0-u85aAYg.  By the way, the prayer is over a little after minute 3, so you can stop there if you’d rather not see Ricky’s boys Walker and Texas Ranger verbally abuse their grandfather.

What I love about this scene is both the satire of what one prays for (“Thank you for my red-hot smoking wife” and the “21.2 million dollars”) and to whom one prays (“Little 8 lb. 6 oz. newborn infant Jesus”). The first time I saw it I was struck by the notion that each family member had a particular Jesus they preferred: adult, bearded Jesus (the traditional Jesus); Jesus in a tuxedo t-shirt singing lead vocals for Lynyrd Skynyrd (the informal Jesus who likes to party); Jesus as a ninja fighting evil samurai (super-hero Jesus); and Baby Jesus in his “golden fleece diaper” (Christmas Jesus).

But that scene also made me think about how I imagine Jesus in my prayers. While Ricky Bobby likes Baby Jesus best, my favorite Jesus is “Hippie Jesus,” bearded, cool, all about social justice and loving everyone. Hippie Jesus, for me, is like your older brother’s best friend who you have a crush on, but you know it will never work out. He’s always nice to you, but you realize he’s way out of your league.

Hippie Jesus

When I was growing up, our family rarely went to church, so my “formal” theology was fixed by my father’s appreciation of the album Jesus Christ Superstar which was released when I was about 7 years old. We had it on 8-track for the car; the music would blare from the rear speakers, and occasionally my dad would chuckle, although at the time I never understood what was funny. We also had the double album, complete with song book containing all the lyrics. I would sit in front of the Hi-Fi with that book and sing as loud as I could (if you have ever heard me sing, you would know that I had extremely loving and patient parents). As I look back, I realize that I fell in love with the “Hippie Jesus” of Jesus Christ Superstar without ever actually seeing him—the album and song book contained no pictures, much to my distress. But I was transfixed and mesmerized by “Jesus Christ Superstar Jesus” and, well, I guess I still have a crush on him.

Is it ok to have a “favorite” Jesus, I wonder? In the scene, Cal imagines Jesus in a tuxedo t-shirt singing with Lynyrd Skynyrd. Should we be offended by that? When my son was little, he imagined Jesus as center fielder for the Chicago Cubs. I figured Will thought the only way the Cubs would ever win a world series in his lifetime is if Jesus was on the team!

In 2002 Popular Mechanics used forensic science to recreate what the historic Jesus might have looked like. Is this the Jesus we should be praying to?

Popular Mechanic’s Jesus

What about a black Jesus? Since Jesus was middle-Eastern, he was probably much darker-skinned that most of us Americans have traditionally envisioned him.

Black Jesus

Is there a danger to creating the Jesus we want to know? Does it make Jesus less of a divine savior and more of the god we want him to be? Or do you suppose that Jesus is just happy that we are thinking of him—and, hopefully, in relationship with him? I honestly don’t know. I do know, however, that one of my weaknesses in imagining “Hippie Jesus” when I pray is that I emphasize the human qualities of Jesus, which make me more comfortable. The almighty power of Jesus as God, especially the idea of divine judgment, makes me a little nervous. (I’m not sure I’m going to make the cut)! But when I come right down to it, I believe that Jesus understands our human limitations in knowing him; loves us in spite of ourselves; and delights in our reaching out to him in any way we can. “Hippie Jesus,” at least, has a “wicked” sense of humor, and I like to think the scene from Talladega Nights makes him chuckle and maybe shake his head at the truth behind the humor.

So who’s your Jesus? Shepherd Jesus? Little Baby Jesus? Baseball Jesus? I’d love to know what YOUR Jesus looks like.

“She Hath Done What She Could”

All Saints Chapel, Sewanee, TN

For a number of years, my church, St. David’s, has offered a woman’s retreat in the fall to St. Mary’s Retreat Center in Sewanee, Tennessee. If you are not Episcopalian, you may not know that the University of the South, an Episcopal college and seminary, is also in Sewanee. And on the campus of the University of the South is All Saint’s Chapel, a lovely Gothic-style cathedral, breath-taking and awe-inspiring.

All Saints

On my first visit to All Saints, I was a bit taken aback by the sheer number of memorial plaques found throughout the chapel’s interior. Everywhere I looked I saw remembrances of important people. The walls were covered with bronze tablets; the stained-glass windows offered brass plates; the pews and even the interior columns had memorial markers. Almost all of these markers noted the prestigious roles and titles of the dead: teacher; commander; librarian; bishop; founder; chancellor; senator. The great majority of those memorialized were men.

One marker, however, stood out by the sheer simplicity and humbleness of the message. “In Memory Of Mary Josephine Tidball. She hath done what she could.”

Here were all these important people who had served their country in battle; who had built and served the university; who had held public office, and there was poor Mary Josephine with her sad “claim to fame” of doing what she could. My friends and I shared a good laugh at Mary’s Josephine’s expense, I’m afraid. I kept imagining a downtrodden mom, maybe living in a trailer out in the country, with a slew of children running around barefoot and dirty. “Poor Mary, bless her heart, she has all those kids, her house is a mess, her husband’s outa work. Bless her heart, she’s just done what she could.” (You may need to be Southern to understand that sentiment fully)! It seemed to me that poor Mary Josephine looked a bit outclassed compared to all these men who had gone bravely into battle, who were learned gentlemen, who were distinguished teachers. In stark contrast to their accomplishments, my poor Mary Josephine had only “done what she could.” Bless her heart.

But then my friends and I realized that doing what one could is actually a Herculean task. What if I did what I could each day? The things I could do weren’t big things by the world’s standards. But I could lovingly prepare a healthy meal for my family (as opposed to grumpily throwing Hamburger Helper in the skillet). I could let someone in front of me in Atlanta traffic (now that’s a radical thought!); I could give a friend who doesn’t drive a ride to the drugstore; I could volunteer a few hours a week to walk dogs at the Humane Society; I could make banana bread for a family dealing with a serious illness. The list goes on and on and on. I actually COULD do so many things in my small little postage stamp of the world. Maybe those little things actually count and matter.

I am embarrassed to say that it was actually over a year before I realized where the phrase “She hath done what she could” came from. Yep, it’s from the Gospel of Mark. While Jesus is eating dinner at Simon’s house in Bethany, only a few days before the crucifixion, an unknown, uninvited woman comes in and anoints Jesus with nard. When the disciples fuss at her for wasting money on such an (to their mind) unnecessary luxury. Jesus tells them to hush and leave her alone:

She hath done what she could: she is come aforehand to anoint my body to the burying. Verily I say unto you, Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached throughout the whole world, this also that she hath done shall be spoken of for a memorial of her. (14:8-9, King James Version)

This unknown woman, incredibly bold, incredibly loving, could not stop Jesus’s death or his suffering. But what she could do was honor him and love him. “She hath done what she could.” Mary Josephine…..wow……your memorial kicks butt. Your heart, and your soul, was indeed blessed

The Road Trip

“If God is your co-pilot, He’s in the wrong seat.”
(sign from the Church of Christ, Roswell, GA)

Lately I have been thinking about my life as a road trip. I grew up in the 1960s and 70s and many of our summer vacations were spent in the big Chrysler, mom and dad in the front, me and Lyn in the back, the pop up camper hitched behind us, Dad’s symphonies and operas blaring through the back speakers. Now I imagine traveling on the journey of my life in one of the old station wagons, with the little bench seat in the way back facing the wrong way. I am in the driver’s seat, of course, and the GPS is set for Albuquerque. I’m not 100% sure why we are going to Albuquerque, but that’s where everyone else seems to be heading. Maybe it’s our end destination or maybe it’s just a stop on the way to some other destination. I don’t know but if everyone’s going there, I want to go too. Now that I’ve grown “spiritually,” I imagine Jesus in the passenger seat. He’s a pleasant enough companion, doesn’t say much, but has a killer smile.

In the back are what my friend Judy calls “little me,” in my case “little me’s” (plural)! They are, well, they are not my best qualities; they’re the worst parts of me. After taking Father Ken Swanson’s Spiritual Direction class at St. David’s, I now identify them as my sins: self-absorption; gluttony; sloth; envy; anxiety (the list goes on but that’s enough for now). They can be a pretty rowdy bunch, I’m ashamed to say.

Sometimes, before I even know what’s happening, I look over to realize that one of them is driving the station wagon. It’s usually Gluttony or Sloth and I’m sitting in the passenger seat eating peanut m&m’s out of the 1 pound bag. I don’t know where the heck Jesus is—maybe the way back, or maybe we left him at the last stop. I sigh, take one last m&m, close the bag, put it in the glove box (for emergencies only, of course), and say, “All right, that’s enough. Stop the car.” I point to the way back seat, Gluttony climbs back and I get behind the wheel again and set the GPS for Albuquerque. I look over and Jesus is back in the passenger seat looking out the window.

Lately, however, I look over after who knows how long to see Anxiety driving the station wagon. She is a bad, bad driver, and she makes me carsick. It used to take me a while to realize she was driving, but now I recognize her more quickly, and I yell out, like a crazed dad who’s absolutely had it with the kids, “That’s IT! STOP THIS CAR!” I relegate her to the way, way back, the little seat that looks backwards, and I take the wheel again. Jesus returns to the passenger seat, and we share a look. He’ll raise his eyebrows at me, like he’s thinking, “That took you long enough.” “Hey,” I say, “that’s enough out of you. Where were you anyway? You just disappear when things get tough.” He shakes his head and smiles that smile and goes back to looking out the window. GPS set to Albuquerque. Now we will make some time, I think.

In the last few months, maybe even a year, I’ve started letting Jesus drive a little. I am not sure how this came about. Maybe I am tired of driving and driving and not seeming to get any closer to Albuquerque. All the cars are whizzing past us and I think some are even there already. This is taking a lot longer than I thought. Jesus, though, doesn’t drive like a normal person. First of all, he turns off the GPS, and gets off the interstate. “Where are we going?” I holler. “Are you sure this is the way? This doesn’t look right.” Jesus is a quiet (and perhaps endlessly patient) man. He rarely answers. I settle huffily into the passenger seat, stretch my legs out on the dash, and wait to be proven right.

I have discovered that Jesus loves the back roads. What I hate most about Jesus driving is the pit stops. They are almost always the “mom and pop” stores of the South, but some have friendly faces, homemade fried pies for sale and clean restrooms, and some have mean dogs chained in the yard, scary people with missing teeth behind the cash register, and filthy restrooms “out back.” I do not like those places and I cannot figure out why we stop there. If it’s not an “emergency,” I will not even get out of the car if the place doesn’t look “right.” I prefer the chain restaurants, clean, familiar places, like Chick-Fil-A, friendly faces, milkshakes, and clean restrooms. Is that really too much to ask? Apparently, it is.

When Jesus drives, I can’t tell if we are making any progress to Albuquerque. He isn’t concerned with “making time” or reaching our destination. Today He had the gall to tell me that my life is less about reaching a certain destination and more about the day to day stuff, the day to day responsibilities, some of which I am already doing. And as if that’s not enough, he gave me some ideas for more work, all of which is unpaid, I might add. “What?!!” I said. “Are you crazy??!!” I was really hoping that if I could just make it to Albuquerque, I will find what my mama would have called a “Good Job.” To me that would be finding my life’s vocation, which will conveniently have a decent salary and prestige. “For heaven’s sake, I am 50 years old,” I remind Jesus. “Everyone my age is already there or at least almost there.” I mutter under my breath, “It must be pretty nice there or everyone else wouldn’t be going and talking about it so dang much. People are going to think I’m crazy.” (Just between you and me, sometimes I like it better when Jesus doesn’t talk.)
So now I am facing a dilemma. Do I let Jesus “take the wheel” as Carrie Underwood would say in what is one of my least-favorite country songs? (Don’t remind me that I’m using the same metaphor!) Or do I get back on the interstate and set the GPS for Albuquerque?

Dancing with Jesus

I wrote a poem! For me, that’s a big deal because I don’t write poetry—AT ALL! At least not since I was 10 or 11 and wrote an ode to the beauty of horses. I know that one doesn’t have to explain “good” poetry, but since it’s not a particularly “good” poem, I think I’ll share a little background. Also, the more I tell you about it, the longer I can put off actually sharing my poem—the thought of which is freaking me out more than a little!

For some reason, this holiday season I’ve been feeling anxious and afraid. Maybe it’s all those anniversaries I wrote about in my last blog; maybe it’s the way I am hard-wired; maybe I am having a mid-life crisis. I don’t know, but I do know that I HATE feeling that way.

I have sometimes felt that being A² (anxious and afraid) separates me from God. I can’t quiet my “monkey mind” and pray like I think I am supposed to (which I guess is meditatively and solemnly).  So one day God showed me that nothing separates us from him. And he made me laugh.

Dance Party with Jesus

Today Jesus danced for me:
The Dougie,
The Kyle Massey,
Spinning on the floor,
Posing, posturing.

“You can’t do that!” I said,
Smiling but shocked
At where this was going.

“I can if I want to!” (Is He mocking me?)
“I am God.”

He takes me by the hands and
Pulls me onto the parquet floor
Where we recreate the silly dances of my childhood—
Dances of exuberance, joy.

Arms entangled,
We spin,
We twirl,
We laugh.

Gravity no longer holds us.
Jesus clasps my hands and
We spin in the blue sky
Like skydivers
Before they pull their ripcords.

I try again: “I’m not sure this is right.”

“I can do it if I want to!” (He is mocking me!)
But His smile is like the sun
And his eyes shine.
“I am God.”