I participated in the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network's Advocacy Day in June. Survivors and loved ones of those taken by this disease go down to DC to urge Congress to pass a bill that would lead to a strategy that would make this diagnosis less than the death sentence that it currently is. I have been thinking a lot about advocacy and what it means since then. (A wonderful two weeks in Croatia kept me from capturing these musings sooner.)
Advocacy sounds like such a formal word and is not typically used to describe the activities of our daily lives. And yet, I believe that we do so quite regularly. There's the advocacy akin to lobbying for a position in the halls of power. But what about the advocacy we do for each other – for those in our family, our friends, our neighbors, those we love and those in need.
On the more institutional side, I was down in Washington advocating for more funding for cancer research. I find it interesting that in many languages, the word that we translate colloquially as "lawyer" is "advocate'. In that sense, it actually makes sense (and may not be such a negative) that many of our elected officials are lawyers.
This was my second year down and I, once again, found it to be near equal parts exhilarating and frustrating. On the one hand, what other country would allow an average citizen to speak with two Congressmen, one Senator and several aides about a single (relatively minor, in the grand scheme of things) issue in a single day? What an amazing country we live in! On the other hand, our priorities drive me batty. We routinely find the money to support the profits of large corporations and our nations richest but have to fight for years to take care of our sick and needy. The benefit from medical research is much clearer to me than what we gained by the $4 trillion spent on the Iraq and Afghanistan wars or tax cuts for the wealthiest 1%. I very firmly believe in a government of, by and for the people and it is maddening to me that we willingly relinquish that power. Forgive the soapbox, but… I see our priorities as a citizenry severely misplaced. I am convinced that the only way we can start putting real, deserving people ahead of faceless institutions is for us to talk about it and exchange ideas amongst ourselves. (So, I invite any and all of you to engage me in civil discussions if you agree with the choice of war funding and tax cuts for the rich instead of better pay for teachers, cops and soldiers and better cures for the diseases my children face. Please help me – because, I don't for the life of me understand that choice and really need to.)
We also have a reasonable expectation of advocacy in our lives. We expect that our elected representatives will advocate for us (or ought to). We expect our loved ones to advocate for us too. We want folks to look out for us, to listen to us, to help us when we are in need.
That same challenge also lays before us when it comes to those we don't know. We are meant to advocate for each other, for the friends we don't yet know, for the least among us. We all know someone who needs an advocate. There is certainly no lack of opportunity. Advocacy is a form of love and loving our neighbor. This is, after all, what Christianity calls us to do.
We are human. We need each other – and that's good. Advocate politically, because we have this wonderful system that allows it. Demand that your government and its' representatives advocate for you, because that's their job. Advocate for your family and friends because love call you to. Advocate for the neediest in our society because it's what Jesus modeled and challenges us to do.
Advocacy is exhilarating and frustrating and the only way to change the world or a life. Let's get to it.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Lost & Found
I've gained and lost a lot over the past few years. I am fortunate that I continue to carry with me, all that I have lost. What's lost is precious and not forgotten.
My pain and suffering - such as it was – related to my cancer, was worth every moment of it. My physical pain was limited and bearable. It was the "emotional pain" of having my applecart so rudely and completely upset that was much more significant. That cart held all of my beliefs about life, faith, health, mortality and priorities. Having to reconsider and reorder all of that baggage, so completely and suddenly was breathtaking. I lost much in that exchange - mostly the appearance of a security that wasn't mine to begin with.
There is a reason that we don't live on the edge of death all the time. We keep our sanity by keeping our temporary-ness at a distance. That is the false sense of security, the necessary lie that allows us not to be petrified basket cases.
Nearly a year ago, I wrote this about that raw awareness of mortality:
The trajectory of my journey has forever changed and my tumor was a wake-up call. My challenge is to find out what that calling is and to act upon it. And yet, as time passes, I fear losing that understanding and urgency. Familiarity breeds complacency and soon that lightening in a bottle could dissipate. Working with other folks that are similarly challenged will keep me close to that edge and keep the gift of my cancer alive.
In the weeks and months after my diagnosis, emotional pain was thrust upon me. I've grown a bit accustomed to it. I don't run from it these days. The good health that God has blessed me with allows me the latitude to sit with emotional pain by choice rather than out of a need to survive. I've been practicing being present for others in need. I've found that it can be a life-affirming, rather than a debilitating act.
For me, it is the way that I've struggled to keep that lightening in bottle
Coming out of the locker room for this 2nd half of my life, I find myself more human with the appreciation of how broken and fragile I am.
A beautiful thing happened to me – my pain has made me more aware of others and their pain.
I've concluded that to insulate yourself from your pain is, in effect, to insulate yourself from other people and their lives. Hiding from your own hurts keeps you from empathizing with others. I can't say I chose to face mine, I had little choice. But it's had a pleasant unintentional consequence - the opportunity for greater communion w/others. So I'd ask you, my friends, to never shield me from what aches you or the truths I have coming to me. I think that I am ready on both counts.
It turns out that my heart has grown, its' capacity to love is greater. It's as if the void created in the space that the head of my pancreas, gall bladder and other parts that my great surgeon removed has been filled by more heart. I've found that it can do far more than I ever knew. And that's just the way that God works.
Here's to feeling more every day!
My pain and suffering - such as it was – related to my cancer, was worth every moment of it. My physical pain was limited and bearable. It was the "emotional pain" of having my applecart so rudely and completely upset that was much more significant. That cart held all of my beliefs about life, faith, health, mortality and priorities. Having to reconsider and reorder all of that baggage, so completely and suddenly was breathtaking. I lost much in that exchange - mostly the appearance of a security that wasn't mine to begin with.
There is a reason that we don't live on the edge of death all the time. We keep our sanity by keeping our temporary-ness at a distance. That is the false sense of security, the necessary lie that allows us not to be petrified basket cases.
Nearly a year ago, I wrote this about that raw awareness of mortality:
The trajectory of my journey has forever changed and my tumor was a wake-up call. My challenge is to find out what that calling is and to act upon it. And yet, as time passes, I fear losing that understanding and urgency. Familiarity breeds complacency and soon that lightening in a bottle could dissipate. Working with other folks that are similarly challenged will keep me close to that edge and keep the gift of my cancer alive.
In the weeks and months after my diagnosis, emotional pain was thrust upon me. I've grown a bit accustomed to it. I don't run from it these days. The good health that God has blessed me with allows me the latitude to sit with emotional pain by choice rather than out of a need to survive. I've been practicing being present for others in need. I've found that it can be a life-affirming, rather than a debilitating act.
For me, it is the way that I've struggled to keep that lightening in bottle
Coming out of the locker room for this 2nd half of my life, I find myself more human with the appreciation of how broken and fragile I am.
A beautiful thing happened to me – my pain has made me more aware of others and their pain.
I've concluded that to insulate yourself from your pain is, in effect, to insulate yourself from other people and their lives. Hiding from your own hurts keeps you from empathizing with others. I can't say I chose to face mine, I had little choice. But it's had a pleasant unintentional consequence - the opportunity for greater communion w/others. So I'd ask you, my friends, to never shield me from what aches you or the truths I have coming to me. I think that I am ready on both counts.
It turns out that my heart has grown, its' capacity to love is greater. It's as if the void created in the space that the head of my pancreas, gall bladder and other parts that my great surgeon removed has been filled by more heart. I've found that it can do far more than I ever knew. And that's just the way that God works.
Here's to feeling more every day!
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Worry and Trust
From Matthew 6 - You of little faith ! 31 "Do not worry then, saying, 'What will we eat?' or 'What will we drink?' or 'What will wear for clothing?' 32 "For the Gentiles eagerly seek all these things ; for your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. 33 "But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. 34 "So do not worry about tomorrow ; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. [you can start reading the passage from verse 25 to get the full effect]
I am not a worrier by nature. I don't lose sleep in anticipation of how circumstances might play out in the future. I don't imagine worst-case scenarios, fretting over the myriad of what-ifs.
But I am a planner. I proactively manage my time and relationships nudging my future towards more favorable outcomes. I develop routines that serve me well, albeit sacrificing some creative latitude. I leave the same time every morning, walk to the train along the same route and sit in the last car every day. In that sense, maybe I am just more active in my worrying – trying to head off trouble at the pass.
I have to say that I love that about me. That thinking ahead, planning, mending the holes in my life have been a survival mechanism for me since childhood, and I believe that it has served me mostly well. It is so core to who I am that any other approach is difficult for me.
For me, worry is alleviated by preparation. In fact, when I was diagnosed in the fall of '08, I was inadvertently in a fairly good position to deal with the unimaginable – somewhat ready for the rainiest of days. I was in prime physical shape having just completed training for another NYC marathon. I had achieved everything I needed to be happy in my life – a wonderfully loving and supportive wife, two beautiful children, a comfortable home and more than adequate material security. I was emotionally fit after years of self-examination. And last, but ultimately of most importance, I had enough spiritual strength to know that I had much more than all of the above going for me.
Given that we can't know what life will serve up to us, I wholeheartedly embrace the Boy Scout motto of always being prepared. Nonetheless, I readily recognize that it is not my preparedness but the grace of God (and further the expertise of several exceptional doctors) that allows me to stand here today.
There is, then, an entirely other aspect to this passage from Matthew. Throughout my challenging time (and in life in general) – beyond prep, there is this question of trust. I see it as the underpinning of all that Jesus asks of us and religious faith as a whole. This is my greatest opportunity because preparedness does not trump trust.
I can "trust" God regarding my health. Since my own vigilance can only take me so far, I have little choice but to trust. When it comes to other aspects of my future – i.e., my livelihood and the things that go with providing for those around/beyond me (those I love) – my trust is shakier. That's what I worry about. I prepare by earning a generous salary - to avoid having to trust. Making that need less primary requires more trust.
Yet, having been shown God's love and grace so unequivocally, I still struggle mightily with that degree of trust. I recognize that the bridge between worry and trust is God. Trusting is active. It means taking a risk. It means listening to what others have been telling me throughout my life. Trust is a spiritual discipline. Trust requires us to depend on others. Trust is what I am reaching out to God for most in my life right now.
It sure is a leap of faith.
I am not a worrier by nature. I don't lose sleep in anticipation of how circumstances might play out in the future. I don't imagine worst-case scenarios, fretting over the myriad of what-ifs.
But I am a planner. I proactively manage my time and relationships nudging my future towards more favorable outcomes. I develop routines that serve me well, albeit sacrificing some creative latitude. I leave the same time every morning, walk to the train along the same route and sit in the last car every day. In that sense, maybe I am just more active in my worrying – trying to head off trouble at the pass.
I have to say that I love that about me. That thinking ahead, planning, mending the holes in my life have been a survival mechanism for me since childhood, and I believe that it has served me mostly well. It is so core to who I am that any other approach is difficult for me.
For me, worry is alleviated by preparation. In fact, when I was diagnosed in the fall of '08, I was inadvertently in a fairly good position to deal with the unimaginable – somewhat ready for the rainiest of days. I was in prime physical shape having just completed training for another NYC marathon. I had achieved everything I needed to be happy in my life – a wonderfully loving and supportive wife, two beautiful children, a comfortable home and more than adequate material security. I was emotionally fit after years of self-examination. And last, but ultimately of most importance, I had enough spiritual strength to know that I had much more than all of the above going for me.
Given that we can't know what life will serve up to us, I wholeheartedly embrace the Boy Scout motto of always being prepared. Nonetheless, I readily recognize that it is not my preparedness but the grace of God (and further the expertise of several exceptional doctors) that allows me to stand here today.
There is, then, an entirely other aspect to this passage from Matthew. Throughout my challenging time (and in life in general) – beyond prep, there is this question of trust. I see it as the underpinning of all that Jesus asks of us and religious faith as a whole. This is my greatest opportunity because preparedness does not trump trust.
I can "trust" God regarding my health. Since my own vigilance can only take me so far, I have little choice but to trust. When it comes to other aspects of my future – i.e., my livelihood and the things that go with providing for those around/beyond me (those I love) – my trust is shakier. That's what I worry about. I prepare by earning a generous salary - to avoid having to trust. Making that need less primary requires more trust.
Yet, having been shown God's love and grace so unequivocally, I still struggle mightily with that degree of trust. I recognize that the bridge between worry and trust is God. Trusting is active. It means taking a risk. It means listening to what others have been telling me throughout my life. Trust is a spiritual discipline. Trust requires us to depend on others. Trust is what I am reaching out to God for most in my life right now.
It sure is a leap of faith.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Crisis in Confidence
Life's circumstances have swept in to challenge my very identity in the past few weeks. I have been forced to question who I am and what I believe in. You come to believe that the world operates a particular way. You think you know people, your family, your employer, your God, your country. Ah…at least my kids are exactly who I thought they were – pure and delightfully consistent.
One event epitomizes this unraveling. My much-loved 41-year-old cousin passed away after fighting against melanoma for over two years. At such a young age and w/two young children it is difficult to see much beyond the heartbreak. Though it was not sudden, it was no less shocking. It went so against "the way things ought to be" that it felt untrue even as it was happening. Even from a slight (if not safe) distance, it seemed like a bad dream. Weeks later, it remains unbelievable. As if to stress the point, we buried Jennie on Ash Wednesday and received our ashes at her graveside with the words "Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return."
Although I can generally see God at work in many facets of my life, I am struggling to find his presence in this situation. Instead of lamenting the tragedy, I've been trying to appreciate her wonderful life and the exceptional woman that she was and the two beautiful children she gave us. Still…it makes no sense and won't until we all meet again in that special place. For now, we are left with the hurt that is left by her absence. Very sadly, it is what it is.
It leaves my Christian faith severely tested, but intact. My incomplete comprehension (if not doubt), seemingly puts God at a distance. I find myself off of my path, in a bit of a spiritual wilderness. Still, this wandering as a result of profound questioning can actually grow my faith. Getting lost occasionally helps us to sharpen our bearings in the long run, making us stronger. I am mostly humbled by the reminder of all that I don't know.
Jennie's final months and passing offered me perspective (should I need more of that in my life). Nonetheless, I've also had a more secular identity crisis recently in the midst of this other turmoil. Though it pales in comparison, I've faced challenges at work far beyond anything I've yet felt in my 20+ career. My best effort wasn't nearly good enough and I wonder whether I am still the effective employee that I've always considered myself to be. Am I really now, suddenly a failure? Could I really have fallen so far? The Man keeps asking for more and offering less. It might just be that both of us have changed in this relationship. Jamming two people's work into one person's job may make sense from the shareholders perspective, but much less so from the point of view of this job holder. Reconciliation is looking less and less possible. And as my boss reiterated, given the state of our economy and industry – unfortunately, it is what it is.
At the end of it all, I am, most thankfully a cancer survivor. (I will leave aside for now the survivor's guilt that I have become acutely aware of lately.) My 6-month CAT scan and blood work came back all clean. My lease is renewed. Fortunately - thank you God! – it is what it is.
Questioning my identity today, I am focusing on who I want to be tomorrow. Inspired by Jennie, motivated by the need for more fulfillment and granted more time by God's good grace – I am off to recreate me. Wish me luck.
One event epitomizes this unraveling. My much-loved 41-year-old cousin passed away after fighting against melanoma for over two years. At such a young age and w/two young children it is difficult to see much beyond the heartbreak. Though it was not sudden, it was no less shocking. It went so against "the way things ought to be" that it felt untrue even as it was happening. Even from a slight (if not safe) distance, it seemed like a bad dream. Weeks later, it remains unbelievable. As if to stress the point, we buried Jennie on Ash Wednesday and received our ashes at her graveside with the words "Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return."
Although I can generally see God at work in many facets of my life, I am struggling to find his presence in this situation. Instead of lamenting the tragedy, I've been trying to appreciate her wonderful life and the exceptional woman that she was and the two beautiful children she gave us. Still…it makes no sense and won't until we all meet again in that special place. For now, we are left with the hurt that is left by her absence. Very sadly, it is what it is.
It leaves my Christian faith severely tested, but intact. My incomplete comprehension (if not doubt), seemingly puts God at a distance. I find myself off of my path, in a bit of a spiritual wilderness. Still, this wandering as a result of profound questioning can actually grow my faith. Getting lost occasionally helps us to sharpen our bearings in the long run, making us stronger. I am mostly humbled by the reminder of all that I don't know.
Jennie's final months and passing offered me perspective (should I need more of that in my life). Nonetheless, I've also had a more secular identity crisis recently in the midst of this other turmoil. Though it pales in comparison, I've faced challenges at work far beyond anything I've yet felt in my 20+ career. My best effort wasn't nearly good enough and I wonder whether I am still the effective employee that I've always considered myself to be. Am I really now, suddenly a failure? Could I really have fallen so far? The Man keeps asking for more and offering less. It might just be that both of us have changed in this relationship. Jamming two people's work into one person's job may make sense from the shareholders perspective, but much less so from the point of view of this job holder. Reconciliation is looking less and less possible. And as my boss reiterated, given the state of our economy and industry – unfortunately, it is what it is.
At the end of it all, I am, most thankfully a cancer survivor. (I will leave aside for now the survivor's guilt that I have become acutely aware of lately.) My 6-month CAT scan and blood work came back all clean. My lease is renewed. Fortunately - thank you God! – it is what it is.
Questioning my identity today, I am focusing on who I want to be tomorrow. Inspired by Jennie, motivated by the need for more fulfillment and granted more time by God's good grace – I am off to recreate me. Wish me luck.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Creating the Reality I Need
Sometimes we like to take credit for the state of our lives. The career, the family, the house, the car(s) – the fact that we are satisfied, happy, achieving. Sometimes we conveniently don't accept responsibility and lament the things that happen to us. We may lose our job, find ourselves alone, in foreclosure, depressed or sick. Stuff happens to all of us in life and it is easy to feel slammed by seemingly random circumstances. Which parts of our lives are our own creations? How much of life gets handed to us, fairly or not? Does it matter?
I have been reflecting on my blessings, circumstances and happiness. I've struggled with many of the big decisions in my life. Even my best choices and creations have left many, many mis-starts and mis-steps in their wake. Even when the products are pretty, the process often isn't. Life isn't about the outcomes as we often make it out to be, but that messy process. The destinations may be somewhat unknown, even as we set out – and yet, we soldier on, in tune with some good feelings that drive us on from the inside.
A little more than six years ago, I acted beautifully in my own self-interest by committing to a lifelong relationship with Jacquelyn. We got married, symbolically creating a new entity on that day. The challenge for us, as for every couple, is to choose that relationship all the time every day. Now, I gratefully recognize that all the best things in my life flow from her.
A little more than four years ago began the adventure of a second, equally wonderful, blessing – the creation of Ana and Noah. Nothing brings me more joy in life and no one has taught me more about myself and God. They are constant reminders of what is important and matters most in life. Their whole existence is about learning to relate to the world around them. We sometimes forget that those relationships to others are the way that we understand ourselves.
I was pushed out from a complacent shore in a little boat on another odyssey a little over two years ago, on the day that my doctor confirmed that I have pancreatic cancer. I don't know what role I might have had in "creating" the cancer in me. Finding myself in the cancer boat, I am comfortable with the idea that it didn't "just happen" to me - without implying the judgment that comes with blame. I do readily concede that it is God's power and grace that has allowed me to keep babbling about it on this blog. I will be so bold as to take responsibility for the creation of my current reality as it relates to the cancer. I respect but don't fear it. It has helped me more than hurt me so far (thanks be to God). It has challenged me to make the most of every day. Once adrift, we row.
My friend Frankie taught me a lot about the world of responses to life's circumstances. Frankie passed away last month. He had been going for a while – spending all but a few weeks of the last 13 months either in a hospital or rehab facility. Frankie left this world graciously. He fought for his life joyfully and then decided to accept his death with the same smile – inspiring every one of us that saw him in those last days and weeks. In his death (as well as life), he taught us how to live. He took an inevitability – for him even more urgently than for the rest of us – and created it on his own loving and considerate terms. For better or worse, few of us will have that opportunity – to create our own passing. Or do we, in a sense, every day of our lives?
Life is defined by our responses to the things that happen to us. We never have to be victims. We can create our reality, regardless of the circumstances.
And so, given the biennial cycle that has brought lovely creations (and challenges) to my life – it seems like I am due.
May I have the courage to create more beautiful things in my life in 2011.
I pray the same for you.
I have been reflecting on my blessings, circumstances and happiness. I've struggled with many of the big decisions in my life. Even my best choices and creations have left many, many mis-starts and mis-steps in their wake. Even when the products are pretty, the process often isn't. Life isn't about the outcomes as we often make it out to be, but that messy process. The destinations may be somewhat unknown, even as we set out – and yet, we soldier on, in tune with some good feelings that drive us on from the inside.
A little more than six years ago, I acted beautifully in my own self-interest by committing to a lifelong relationship with Jacquelyn. We got married, symbolically creating a new entity on that day. The challenge for us, as for every couple, is to choose that relationship all the time every day. Now, I gratefully recognize that all the best things in my life flow from her.
A little more than four years ago began the adventure of a second, equally wonderful, blessing – the creation of Ana and Noah. Nothing brings me more joy in life and no one has taught me more about myself and God. They are constant reminders of what is important and matters most in life. Their whole existence is about learning to relate to the world around them. We sometimes forget that those relationships to others are the way that we understand ourselves.
I was pushed out from a complacent shore in a little boat on another odyssey a little over two years ago, on the day that my doctor confirmed that I have pancreatic cancer. I don't know what role I might have had in "creating" the cancer in me. Finding myself in the cancer boat, I am comfortable with the idea that it didn't "just happen" to me - without implying the judgment that comes with blame. I do readily concede that it is God's power and grace that has allowed me to keep babbling about it on this blog. I will be so bold as to take responsibility for the creation of my current reality as it relates to the cancer. I respect but don't fear it. It has helped me more than hurt me so far (thanks be to God). It has challenged me to make the most of every day. Once adrift, we row.
My friend Frankie taught me a lot about the world of responses to life's circumstances. Frankie passed away last month. He had been going for a while – spending all but a few weeks of the last 13 months either in a hospital or rehab facility. Frankie left this world graciously. He fought for his life joyfully and then decided to accept his death with the same smile – inspiring every one of us that saw him in those last days and weeks. In his death (as well as life), he taught us how to live. He took an inevitability – for him even more urgently than for the rest of us – and created it on his own loving and considerate terms. For better or worse, few of us will have that opportunity – to create our own passing. Or do we, in a sense, every day of our lives?
Life is defined by our responses to the things that happen to us. We never have to be victims. We can create our reality, regardless of the circumstances.
And so, given the biennial cycle that has brought lovely creations (and challenges) to my life – it seems like I am due.
May I have the courage to create more beautiful things in my life in 2011.
I pray the same for you.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Joy and Possibility
Advent is waiting.
The wait can take on a slew of varied approaches for people.
The days off from work or school are a sweet "finally!" for many.
We anticipate quality time with family and friends.
Maybe we are still waiting for that Norman Rockwell conflict-free family Christmas. (If it's any consolation, the birth stories themselves contain lots of conflict.)
For Christians, it was four weeks of preparing for the birth of Jesus by considering Hope, Peace, Love and Joy.
Finally, commercial Christmas crescendos on the 25th.
And now, the advertising that accompanied Advent and the waiting to see what Santa brought is over. What now?
Well…Christmas is about joy and possibility.
Blessed with loved ones, it's a joyous celebration of the birth of Jesus.
But further, the Prince of Peace comes to remind us of the possibility of what love can do. Christmas is our opportunity to bring the long-ago event into the present.
Maybe it's no wonder that New Years follows on the heels of Christmas.
On the days after Christmas - the first days of the rest of our lives - we can turn the page on the calendar. Start fresh of sorts. Maybe turn a few Bible pages to keep up with the story. Or turn to a more loving response in our most challenging relationships. It's time to turn and focus on different kinds of returns and exchanges.
The perfect New Years resolution finds its seeds in the Christmas message. The simple yet elusive challenge to be loving always.
I wish you many blessings in the New Year.
Peace & love.
franco
The wait can take on a slew of varied approaches for people.
The days off from work or school are a sweet "finally!" for many.
We anticipate quality time with family and friends.
Maybe we are still waiting for that Norman Rockwell conflict-free family Christmas. (If it's any consolation, the birth stories themselves contain lots of conflict.)
For Christians, it was four weeks of preparing for the birth of Jesus by considering Hope, Peace, Love and Joy.
Finally, commercial Christmas crescendos on the 25th.
And now, the advertising that accompanied Advent and the waiting to see what Santa brought is over. What now?
Well…Christmas is about joy and possibility.
Blessed with loved ones, it's a joyous celebration of the birth of Jesus.
But further, the Prince of Peace comes to remind us of the possibility of what love can do. Christmas is our opportunity to bring the long-ago event into the present.
Maybe it's no wonder that New Years follows on the heels of Christmas.
On the days after Christmas - the first days of the rest of our lives - we can turn the page on the calendar. Start fresh of sorts. Maybe turn a few Bible pages to keep up with the story. Or turn to a more loving response in our most challenging relationships. It's time to turn and focus on different kinds of returns and exchanges.
The perfect New Years resolution finds its seeds in the Christmas message. The simple yet elusive challenge to be loving always.
I wish you many blessings in the New Year.
Peace & love.
franco
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Let This Darkness Be a Bell Tower
Only days after Thanksgiving 2010, I am celebrating the 2-year anniversary of my Whipple procedure – the surgery that removed the tumor from my gut. Hallelujah!
It is only by God's grace that I am allowed to continue to give thanks. He asks a lot in return but that seems more than fair to me. I struggle joyously with that ask each day. We all struggle, but never alone.
I try to flow. I try to ring. I try to speak. I try to be.
Here's a poem that spoke to me.
"Let This Darkness Be a Bell Tower" by Rainer Maria Rilke
Quiet friend who has come so far,
feel how your breathing makes more space around you.
Let this darkness be a bell tower
and you the bell. As you ring,
what batters you becomes your strength.
Move back and forth into the change.
What is it like, such intensity of pain?
If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.
In this uncontainable night,
be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,
the meaning discovered there.
And if the world has ceased to hear you,
say to the silent earth: I flow.
To the rushing water, speak: I am
It is only by God's grace that I am allowed to continue to give thanks. He asks a lot in return but that seems more than fair to me. I struggle joyously with that ask each day. We all struggle, but never alone.
I try to flow. I try to ring. I try to speak. I try to be.
Here's a poem that spoke to me.
"Let This Darkness Be a Bell Tower" by Rainer Maria Rilke
Quiet friend who has come so far,
feel how your breathing makes more space around you.
Let this darkness be a bell tower
and you the bell. As you ring,
what batters you becomes your strength.
Move back and forth into the change.
What is it like, such intensity of pain?
If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.
In this uncontainable night,
be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,
the meaning discovered there.
And if the world has ceased to hear you,
say to the silent earth: I flow.
To the rushing water, speak: I am
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