My Broken Road

Last night I dreamed that I was back teaching Adult Basic Ed at Northside, subbing actually. I met with a new boss, a 20-something man, and he thought I intended to take on a regular position. I explained that I was only committing through the end of November and he started in on the "what's good for the learners; be a team-player" speech. I told him, "I have rediscovered my passion for tutoring. I remember how much I have always enjoyed one-on-one teaching but got away from that to teach in the classroom. And now I realize that I really want to tutor." I also urged him to find a better fit and he smiled in understanding.

I was so clear and so articulate and so very sure in that dream. It was a re-do, as if I had actually been there having a real conversation and I woke up with such singing clarity. It felt like I had laid something hard and heavy to rest. Had cast off something ill fitting while I slept.

Tutoring was my first teaching job 27 years ago when I started the after school tutoring program in my junior high and I had forgotten how much I like it's variety and satisfactions. And despite the cancellations and getting stood up and having to drop a student, I am really enjoying myself. Happiest I've felt working in years. A simple, easy satisfaction in contrast to the complicated, hard-won victories of other jobs. My enjoyment remains and yet I've changed for the better.


I've had this feeling in a slightly different flavor about church lately- like I have digested all my bitterness and anger and disappointment while I was processing other things. It's like collateral healing; I forgave many people and communities, I learned to live my own life, and I walked on. And somehow, without intending to, walked back into the church of my childhood a completely different person. I finally really see them now. I can list their weaknesses- expressing emotions and space for healing and deep relationships- and their strengths- service and giving and devotion and goodness. And I can do it without frustration or malice or heavy expectations of any kind.

At a service project on Saturday, I ran into some people I knew 20+ years ago, the Obergs. They recognized me and were pointing to me just as I glanced at them in line and recognized their faces. I later introduced myself to Mrs. Oberg and she remembered me. I think I taught he son in Sunday School like 25 years ago and now my daughter is with me on a service project. It was like Circle of Life stuff, you know? And I was struck by how deeply satisfying it is to see them and to be recognized and to introduce my daughter and also by how few expectations I have for them or for anyone at church anymore except a general goodness and kindness to my kids. Somehow that's enough.

After all the failures and disappointments and heartbreaks and griefs, I have an opportunity for a re-do. They are still the same good-hearted, well-intentioned people who broke my heart. I'm the one who changed and was changed. Awake and asleep, incidentally and on purpose, I am a different person.

I remember my Gramma White's funeral at Wooddale Church 7 years ago. I remember how angry and disillusioned and vulnerable I felt being at the childhood church which had so disappointed me. I remember looking around and feeling fondness for Desi the organist and Nancy Jo a parent of youth group friends. I had not found my way home yet and I remember the tension between my feelings of fondness and abandonment. I sat in that pew and realized that my Gramma gave me a gift in her death, a gift of reconnecting with these people. I had absolutely no idea then, nor at any time along the road, that I would ever feel at home there again. Or I would ever feel at home again, period.

And yet, after everything and everything, here I am. Back home. The same and different. And so, so much better and happier than I had ever hoped to be again.

Here is my theme song in this collateral healing: Broken Road.

Failure

Ah, it's fall and hearts turn to thoughts of ... failure, at least mine does anyway.

First, a quote from Stones into Schools about the author's failure to build the school his beloved friend had requested 10 years previously. Now half a world away, his friend was on his death bed, unreachable.
"It was important that I try, but it was even more important that I fail."
Out of his failure, came an opportunity for the people in the community who rallied and hauled the materials in by yak caravan and built the school themselves. Their success was only possible because he did try and because he did fail. Out of his failure was birthed this impoverished, war-smothered community's heartsong, a school for their future, built with their own hands.

I've also been thinking a lot about Gen. Robert E Lee, leader of the Confederate Army in the Civil War. Tim put me onto his story, that of an honorable man who fights a war and loses with such virtue that he has adversaries but no enemies. Here's a quote from a Southern leader about him after he lost the war.

He was a foe without hate; a friend without treachery; a soldier without cruelty; a victor without oppression, and a victim without murmuring. He was a public officer without vices; a private citizen without wrong; a neighbour without reproach; a Christian without hypocrisy, and a man without guile. He was a Caesar, without his ambition; Frederick, without his tyranny; Napoleon, without his selfishness, and Washington, without his reward.


And this is the guy who lost?!? When I fail, I assume it must be about me- that if I had been more clever or more devoted or more talented or worked harder, then I would have succeeded. And yet, not even the people whose side he lead to defeat reproached him. What's that about? I'm going to put some movies and documentaries about him in my Netflix queue and ponder this guy and his failure which was so public that we're all still talking about it 150 years later. And yet, his integrity and character and kindness are legendary to the very people he failed.

I've wondered why God has allowed me to fail very humiliatingly. I feel set up. I believed, tried my best, worked hard, worked harder, held on, and in the end failed. Jobs, communities, friends, dreams, businesses, family, hopes- all failed. Why did I need to care so much only to lose so much? Why give me such ability to try with and then not succeed? My confidences were broken and my embarrassment spread around. Couldn't I have just passed these jobs and communities and dreams by? Couldn't I have put in a little, realized it wasn't going to work out, and moved on? Just skipped to the end. They aren't going to work out anyway, so why expend myself? Why try and fail so spectacularly?

Well, I'm still asking this. The best I've got so far is these two.
1. I desperately needed what only failing could give me.
2. This failure was entrusted to me.

It has occurred to me that rather than Robert Lee being wasted as a losing general, maybe being a losing general was granted to him. Maybe failing was the sacred task entrusted to just the right person at just the right time.

Perhaps I will become glorious in my failures, too. And perhaps these failures will be completed in me. Or maybe fulfilled by me.

That's it. That's the very best I've gotten after decades of study in failure and especially an intensive last 20 years. I pass it on to you with my best wishes. Do let me know how it sits in your soul. That'll help me in the upcoming decades.

Here's a poem for the road.

Prayer Attributed to a Civil War Soldier

A prayer by an American Confederate soldier seriously disabled in the Civil War is a beautiful example of the depths of discovery of the gifts of suffering that a wound can bring:

I asked God for strength, that I might achieve, I was made weak, that I might learn humbly to obey. I asked for health, that I might do great things, I was given infirmity, that I might do better things. I asked for riches, that I might be happy, I was given poverty, that I might be wise. I asked for power, that I might have the praise of men, I was given weakness, that I might feel the need of God. I asked for all things, that I might enjoy life, I was given life, that I might enjoy all things. I got nothing that I asked for-but everything I had hoped for. Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered. I am, among all men, most richly blessed.

Macaroons

The sensation of Saturday was macaroons from Sweets. Turtle, Salted Caramel, Rose with White Chocolate Ganache, and Vanilla Bean Chunk with Chocolate. Yum. Ephemeral- only sold the day they're made, laid in a box, and plastic wrapped to guard against drying out- how could this much care not be a sensation?
As we took our first bites, it was pure pleasure!

Incapable of the things of intimacy

Megan said something the other day which has stuck with me. Don't have time for a long blog right now but wanted to put the idea out for consideration and further discussion. We were talking about families and holidays and the differences among love and trust and intimacy. We were talking about family members we love but can't ever seem to be close to. It's like they beckon us closer and then stop our advance at a 100 yards out.

She said, "Some people are incapable of doing the things which would help me feel close to them."

Wow, ladies and gentleman, that is a quote to ponder.

My new kindred spirit

Today I heard the story of Eleazar, one of King David's Mighty Men listed in 2 Samuel 23. Not exactly a scintillating text. And yet, I found myself sitting in the pew with tears running down my face at his story.

⁹ Next to him was Eleazar son of Dodai the Ahohite. As one of the three mighty men, he was with David when they taunted the Philistines gathered at Pas Dammim for battle. Then the men of Israel retreated, ¹⁰ but he stood his ground and struck down the Philistines till his hand grew tired and froze to the sword. The LORD brought about a great victory that day. The troops returned to Eleazar, but only to strip the dead.

I have been here. Bravery, arrogance, and tough talk with the winning team. The battle turns and I am abandoned at the critical moment. Everyone who talked victory with me runs and I am left facing a ruthless, unrelenting enemy alone. For far, far too long. I fight so long that my body, my life freeze around my weapons and I am a warrior whose war ends and I don't know how to stop fighting. And my comrade-betrayers come back to help themselves to the treasure I have won with my life's blood. And still, after everything and everything, my victory is great and God has brought it. I didn't expect to survive and here I am victorious.

My soul swells to hear this man named a Mighty Man. This man makes the list. Those who ran are mentioned only to heap honor on the one who stood. His name means "My God, saving help in desperate times."

Eleazar is my new found kindred spirit and I wish to be counted among the Mighty. My fight has been desperately long and nearly unsung and chiefly acknowledged by others for the treasures it's unearthed which they want.

When it comes time for my trophy, I want to be awarded The Mighty Eleazar.

Learning to let them go

I was talking with my sister today and we got to talking about how our lives have changed. We used to hear a good idea, get excited, and pursue it. Now we're in a season in which there are so many more variables and we hear a good idea, ask questions, most often let it go, and occasionally pursue it if it's a great fit.

I've been trying to recruit students to tutor and everything seemed possible or interesting. Biology of speech in Wayzata- interesting. TOEFL (Test of English as a Foreign Language) tutoring at the U of M- possible. Spanish and study skills for special needs kid in St Paul- interesting and just barely possible if all the planets align. Checking Wyzant and Craig's List for new posting and emails was getting addictive. Like the lottery, maybe this time I'd win big. Embarrassing to admit to myself that I had put in over 15 hours since early September and haven't made a dime.

Yesterday and today through a quiet walk and talking with Emily and Tim I realized I was trying too hard and that what I really want for my 4 hours per week and $20 per hour is to help some school kid get their homework done. That's it. And I want to do it one afternoon a week at the Southdale Library and one night a week at my house. That's it. No unpaid prep. No hassle. No interrupting Tim's work schedule or my yoga schedule or the kids' schedule.

All the rest might be possible and interesting, but not a good fit for me right now.

So I got up out of bed tonight, emailed 3 people I had initial meetings with this upcoming week who didn't fit me, and canceled with my best wishes for their success. I might lose another when he reads my revised parameters. Which leaves me with one high school girl at exactly the times, places, and hassle level I want. I edited my Craigs List posting to reflect my new parameters and maybe someone will find me. And then again, maybe not.

I'm feeling sad and a little disappointed at the loss of the possible and interesting which is why I blogged tonight. I am a persistent person and I find it hard to stop. I am a curious person and I find it hard to leave not knowing. Just because it can be done does not mean I choose to do it. But, boy oh boy, there is something seductive about trying to choose it all.

And yet, I'm feeling the frantic fade. I remember past lettings go. I say to myself, "Release is freedom" and oddly, I find that comforting rather than ridiculous like I used to.

My friends, keep telling me your stories about letting go because I need every one- every loss grieved, every disappointment reborn, every itch of curiosity unscratched- to help me find my center again and again and again after every persistent, possible, interesting, curious opportunity which wobbles me.

And for someone like me, there are a lot.
So, do tell me a story about letting go and I'll take a deep breath and listen.

My health care favorites

I've spoken with several of you about my favorite health care people and wanted to get you contact info. I have checked out a lot of people over a lot of years and these are the best of the best. I could go on and on about each of them, but I'll refrain. If you have any questions about who might be the best fit, ask and I'll help you.

Ginger Dunivan, Acorn Chiropractic, 651-260-1763
Ginger works out of her basement in St Paul off Snelling and Grand. She's the best all-around health person I've ever seen. She's got toys so kids play on the floor and she follows them around. She charges about $65 for an hour visit (half that for kids) while most of her peers charge $65 for 15 minutes. Can't remember her new patient fee. She's kind, patient, funny, and extremely skilled.

Joe Forman, Forman Acupuncture
Joe also works out of his home off 46th and Bloomington in Mpls. He charges $75 for a 75 minute visit. He is one of the funniest and wisest people I know. He also does hands-on body work and often integrates music.

Tara, Studio T
Tara works in the Healing Garage on 29th and Harriet in Mpls. She charges $80 for an 80 minute visit. She does shiatsu massage and chi nei tsang which is this emotional release body work from China. She is also my yoga teacher. She is very grounded, insightful, steady, and intuitive.

The three above all swap services with each other and refer people to each other.


Shannon Staiger, counselor, (651) 642-5073 (voice mail)
Shannon works as a counselor out of her home in St Paul off Snelling and Goodrich Avenue. She has several certifications and has a sliding fee scale based on income and ability to pay. She is a fantastic listener, deep, caring, spiritual, and wise from a long life well-lived. Can't recommend her strongly enough.

These are people who have seen me through many a year. I hope you find who you're looking for.
And may God bless these good people who have dedicated their lives to healing and justice and laughter so that I could heal.
Amen